


Code of Conduct

by Delongpaw



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Columbia University, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-03-31 10:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 55,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13972773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delongpaw/pseuds/Delongpaw
Summary: From Columbia University Faculty Code of Conduct HandbookTeaching Staff are forbidden from entering into a romantic or sexual relationship with any student for whom a faculty member has, or should reasonably expect to have in the future, academic responsibility (instructional, evaluative, or supervisory).





	1. The Politics of Desire

 

Elio*********************

 

 

A good looking professor teaching The Politics of Desire; Sex and Gender in Antiquity, if that’s not a powder keg ready to explode I don’t know what is. Damn.

I only took this class because the course title intrigued me and I needed an upper level elective to fulfill a requirement.

 

I also heard the professor was fuck hot and that makes me somewhat shallow. The rumors were spot on. He is perfection, a veritable God among slovenly Ivy League misfits. Tall, jaw of death, perfectly preppie, and his New England patrician accent a welcome relief in a sea of New York nasal twang.

 

My unaccented English is a result of my European upbringing; an American father and an Italian mother. I have been told that I speak “non-regional English.” My dad is also a professor, teaching Ancient Greek and Linguistics at a University in Milan.

 

I applied to a few schools here in the States; Brown, Dartmouth, landing at Columbia was a fluke really.   (They must have really liked my essay.)

 

I’m not a Classical Studies major, actually my declared major is Semiotics, the study of signs and symbols and their interpretation. It’s what they tell precocious intelligent kids to major in when they don’t know what the fuck they want to do.

Semiotics is “trans-disciplinary,” anthropology, sociology, visual culture, art history, all applicable, all a problem when I actually have to make a living.

I guess I could mortgage my soul on Madison Avenue and use my exemplary communication skills to sell toaster waffles and condoms. Well, I can put it off for another 3 years, more if I go the grad school route.

 

I have to admit, I’ve been directionless since I decided I didn’t want to major in music. Watching the joy leave my friend Paolo when he decided to make a career out of guitar playing cinched the deal. It stopped being fun for him. I love playing the piano. I just don’t want to _have_ to play the piano.

 

I am now a rudderless boat, going whichever the wind blows strongest. Maybe I’ll change my major if I really like this class. (See what I mean?)

 

I am kind of like that with my relationships right now too. Until freshman year, here at Columbia, I had always been with girls.

 

Last year, I met someone on my floor in the dorm and we had a pretty casual thing going for a good part of the first semester. Boys were a totally new thing for me, not for David. He had attended English boarding school his whole life and this was his preference.

 

He showed me the ropes as it were, and we had a lot of fun. I love his taste in music and his cynical observations. He is strikingly handsome - tall, super slim, long legs, rock star presence and a really posh accent. Although we were safe, he was not monogamous, and now he is actually with someone he met at a club. We are still close. In fact, I would venture to say that he is my best friend here.

 

Shit. This class is not a gut.* It may have a sexy title and all, but there are three exams, one midterm paper, and a final paper. Fuuuuuck. What have I gotten myself into?

 

Oliver****************

 

I’d like to think that this class weeds out the serious students from the dilettantes. I’ve only been a full professor for a year now, but even as an instructor and PhD candidate I resented the students who took an upper level classics class when what they really needed was an intro level basic class to see whether or not this is their thing. Well, once I go over the requirements, I bet the transfer slips start showing up.

 

This morning was a rough. Tina was looking to pick a fight and she got one. She knew I had a lot on my mind frantically trying to get stuff together for my two classes. But then again, she has always demanded a lot of attention. Being a principal dancer at American Ballet Theatre, she is not only beautiful but driven _and_ talented. I have been distracted with work and that does not sit well with her. I know there are other things bothering her. Some of the younger dancers are now getting roles that she assumed would go to her. That can’t be easy. She is getting gently steered in the direction of choreography and teaching, much to her chagrin. And I have to admit; my ardent fervor toward her has cooled considerably.

 

I take full responsibility for pursuing her relentlessly; She was the unobtainable goddess who was a childhood friend of my friend. I was sure she was it for me. Months of wooing, rushed dinners, flowers, gifts, notes, I pulled out all of the stops and finally she relented. The bliss of the first three months was heady; part of it was the reflected glory that someone as beautiful and talented as she was, would deign to bless me with her presence.

(Yes, self esteem has nothing to do with how you look- I know I look ok, it’s just I’ll never _be_ enough so there’s that…thanks Mom and Dad.)

 

Here’s the thing. Dancers start training at a very young age. Tina was in class by age 3. Her education has always been dance centric. To say that she is not well-rounded would be mean but true. The emphasis of her training has been physical prowess and grace, not intellectual curiosity and learning. How do I put this kindly? I am bored.

After we were dating for two months, she lost the lease she had on her apartment. In New York City that’s a major problem, so I invited her to move in. Now I’m in too deep. I feel trapped, unhappy, and frustrated. What a great way to start a semester.

 

I look back at the small lecture hall. A few of the faces I recognize, some are advisees, two graduate students slumming it, and the rest seem to be busy taking notes and putting dates in their planners. A boy in the fourth row is looking at me, I have never seen him before. He is singularly stunning, his long white neck in startling contrast to his onyx curls, sloe-eyed and pensive, he draws my attention by his stillness.

 

After writing my office hours on the board, I start to pack up my papers and the code of conduct I have to sign and drop off at the department, I look up and the beautiful boy is gone.


	2. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lecture, and some of Oliver's backstory

Elio******************************************

 

It’s only the second class and the Professor already has a hard on about people not taking his seminar ‘for the right reasons’ and he is emphasizing the fact that there is still time for transferring with no penalty to our GPA. FUCK HIM. Seriously. I think he is directing his comments to me. I am possibly the only non-major in the class and damn right I am taking this personally. 

I am going to blow his classics majors right out of the water with my post-structuralist double talk. Just wait Professor Oliver Katz. Just fucking wait. I am fuming. 

The first lecture is so damn basic, I wonder if it’s for my benefit...the Stylistic differences between the Archaic Period and The Classical Period, how rudimentary can he get? I better stop rolling my eyes or I’m going to get busted. 

Prof brings up an image on the screen to illustrate the Archaic Period, [It’s two Satyrs basically jerking off in 520 BC.](http://www.mfa.org/collections/object/drinking-cup-kylix-depicting-two-satyrs-153478%20)

Woah. Now this is not what I expected. Prof maintains it’s not his job to analyze the artwork, but rather to give us a context within which to understand the work. 

He spends a good amount of time talking about Satyrs and how basically they were the sex maniacs of antiquity, enjoying rape, necrophilia and sodomy not necessarily in that order. I think he is playing us now, just to spark some prurient interest. I realize my arms are crossed and my body language is speaking volumes. 

He goes on to say that in ‘ancient’ times, the notion of ‘sexuality’, as we understand it today, is not applicable. People had sexual relations with each other, plain and simple, and such relations did not define who one was, in any sense. It is therefore likely that many, if not most people, were what we might today consider ‘bisexual’. So as a group, he says, we need to leave our 20th Century eyes and bias behind and look at what we are seeing through a neutral lens, as much as that is even possible. 

There is a natural tension here between structuralism and the bias I think that the Professor is putting forth, which rests securely with post-structuralism. As someone who studies semiotics, how am I going to reconcile the two? My brain hurts but I’m also stimulated in way that’s exciting to me.  
(No, not that way, but um, yes he is so fucking beautiful, objectively speaking of course.) 

The rest of the hour goes by in an instant. My anger that was forgotten momentarily is re-kindled when Professor O. Katz waves the transfer slips and looks directly at me while offering them up. What a prick. I gather my stuff and leave. If this keeps up I will go to his office and let him know I am not transferring out, and he can save his breath. 

 

Oliver**********************************

 

Well, that didn’t go too badly. I wanted to shock them a bit at first and get some of the more obvious imagery out of the way. I guarantee the class will be completely desensitized by the end of the semester. That’s my plan anyway.

By process of elimination I have figured out that my Ganymede is actually named Elio Perlman. He showed up for the second class surprisingly, and did not take me up on the proffered transfer slip. Damn. If he can’t keep up it will hold us back, and if can, he’ll just be a distraction to me. 

I walk down to the registrar’s office and submit a request to pull Mr. Perlman’s records. I just want to know what I am dealing with here. A thin folder comes back with his grades for freshman year, (impressive) and a list of completed courses. His address is listed as one of the dorms on campus and his home address is in Milan. Wait. I wonder if he is related to Professor Samuel Perlman the world-renowned linguist and author of Greek: A History of the Language and its Speakers. Oh shit. 

I may have underestimated this kid. Perlman is widely recognized as an international authority on Ancient Greek. I mean, I have paid to hear him lecture, bought all of his books, I even own two cassette tapes of him speaking at various conferences. 

I go back to my office and pull one of Perlman’s books off of my shelf. His brief bio on the back cover states that he resides in Milan with his wife Annella and his son Elio. Shit. Once again I have jumped to a conclusion that will come back and bite me in the ass. 

This has soured my mood and knowing that I have to go home and deal with Tina doesn’t help.

I need fortification. I go to Restaurant 88 for some Cold Sesame Noodles with Peanut sauce, and a beer. The only food in my apartment right now is protein powder, frozen fruit, and lean chicken breasts, the ballerina’s basics. 

I return home to a note from Tina – a scrawled “sorry” with a smiley face. Oy. 

In my little office, basically a converted miniscule bedroom, I continue to plan my lectures and museum visits for the semester. I love my work. I chose this field in opposition to the path laid out for me by my parents. 

My father, a leader in the field of mergers and acquisitions had assumed that a Harvard - Wharton path was inevitable for me. When I rejected their “guidance,” essentially they rejected me. We are cordial but I am reminded in every conversation how I have disappointed them. 

Holidays and family gatherings are torture. They have met Tina twice. Dismissed by my father as “a lightweight,” his disregard of her probably extended the relationship by at least a few months. My mother brags to her friends that “Oliver is dating a prima ballerina,” but never asks after her or reaches out.

My mother and I share an affinity for the arts and culture. It is the only subject which we can talk about without hostility. She is incredibly smart but has continually made choices that isolate her and reinforce her elitist values. Her contact with those below her social class is extremely limited. Her life is carefully curated; the right vacation spots, the perfect outfit, suitable friends, it’s all pretty nauseating. I am the thorn in her side, disrupting her seamless façade. 

I have been criticized for as long as I can remember, In fact my very first memory was visiting day at sleep away camp in Maine. I was five years old (!) and hadn’t seen my parents for four weeks. When they saw me, they immediately went to my bed and asked why my cubby wasn’t as neat as my fellow campers? And how come I hadn’t learned how to make my bed properly? As I watched my bunkmates get hugged and told how they were missed, I started to cry, realizing, for perhaps the very first time, that constant disapproval was not the norm. 

As a result of their relentless disparagement I have pursued approval from outside sources, not always in my best interest. I know the hard won ‘procurement’ of Tina as it were, was an obvious attempt to seek validation from friends and others. That has gotten me into an untenable situation from which I have to figure out an escape.  
This is not a new thing. I have been running the same number for a long time. Obviously it is no longer working for me. I am miserable. It’s time to do something about it. I guess I'll start with Tina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed heavily from Dr. David Kreps who writes on Sexuality in Ancient Greece in his blog. He is a self described trans disciplinary academic. I also did some remedial reading on [Semiotics, Structuralism and post structuralism](https://nomischool.wordpress.com/2012/11/01/structuralism-semiotics-poststructuralism-and-the-analysis-of-meaning/) If I failed to convey something accurately please let me know in the comments. I also consulted a book entitled In bed with The Ancient Greeks by Paul Chrystal. 
> 
> I promise I won't get too academic in this story. I also promise that Oliver will emerge from his Eeyore persona as he heals. Your comments and insight are so valuable to me.


	3. Love looks not with the eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Office Hours and Suitcases

Elio****************************

 

The anxiety about my class has been sitting in my tummy for the last 12 hours. I feel slightly sick, I need to go talk to professor hotness and just handle this shit. I don’t know what to expect; aloof and cold if the two previous classes are any indicator. 

This is new for me. I can be pretty charming without any effort and I say this with no ego attached, people usually react favorably to me. Walking into a potentially hostile environment is not something I am used to. 

I knock on the doorframe and stick my head around the professor’s door. He quickly removes his long legs from their resting place on his desk, and stands up. 

“Hi, sorry to disturb you Professor, it’s just that I need to speak with you, is this a good time?”  
I extend my hand for a handshake and say “Elio Perlman, I don’t know if you know who I am, from your ‘Politics of Desire’ class.” 

“Yes, Yes, Elio, c’mon in and please close the door behind you. Have a seat.”

He’s being really courteous and kind, not what I expected, my heart rate is really accelerated as I was gearing up for a confrontation, it doesn’t appear I am going to get one. 

“So what can I do for you Elio?”

“Well um, I was getting the distinct impression this week that you wanted me to transfer out of the class, and I wanted to talk about it. The material really interests me and I think I can contribute something, so….”

He shakes his head in affirmation, frowning a bit, “Yes I’m sorry, I made an assumption that you were just dabbling in the subject, and the fact that you are here today proves me wrong. Will you accept my apology? “

Woah. Did not see that coming. 

“Yes, yes of course. I hope I don’t let you down, now that I have told you how much I want to take the class.“

“No worries Elio, if you don’t do well in the class the only person you will be letting down is yourself.”

Ok, that was a typical dick professor response. What did I expect? I am gonna ignore it and proceed. 

“I am interested in discussing the first paper topic with you. I want to make sure that the approach I take is appropriate.”

He smiles and leans forward, and for the first time, I get a good look at his eyes. They are exactly the same shade as the Aegean Sea, when viewed from Psarou Beach on Mykonos. Remarkable. 

My heart keeps up its’ accelerated rate even though it appears no conflict is imminent. 

I then launch into my idea for the paper; how the Knidian Aphrodite was a game changer in Classical Antiquity  
and why it essentially turned the concept of the male gaze on its’ head. 

He doesn’t seem offended that I want to use a film theory framework to analyze Greek statuary, in fact quite the opposite. Is that a glimmer of respect or admiration I see flicker across his face? Niiiice. I’m in. 

We trade ideas and he suggests that I include a history of the pudica pose within Greek Kyriarchal gender ideals. 

So cool, he is open to using both film and feminist theory as a context for analysis. This is going much better than I thought it would. 

Before I know it, I’ve used up almost two hours of his time. I glance at my wristwatch and excuse myself, apologizing for basically hogging his office hours. 

He shakes his head and says, “No Elio, I don’t think I have enjoyed 2 hours so much in a long time.  
It’s been such a pleasure getting to know you. Let me walk you out.” 

He guides me through the door by his sheer height and presence. Some primitive urge passes through me as I am pressed next to him in the doorframe, an inexplicable magnetism that catches me completely off guard. A blush creeps up my neck and I feel warm and slightly woozy. I throw him an awkward salute and hightail out of the building. 

 

Oliver****************************************

I need a walk. I have to wrap my head around the last two hours. What a wonder is the mind of Elio Perlman!  
He not only held his own in the conversation, but he also challenged some of my long held beliefs and now I am questioning things I thought I knew. I could almost see thoughts and deductions coalesce in his mind, it was mesmerizing. He is a rare bird.

And his beauty, it feels like a sacrilege to speak of it. He is so completely unaware that he is stunning. 

It was the right thing to do – not mention that I know who his father is. At some point, it may come up; I will deal with it then.  
Now, he has to feel that I accept him on his own terms. And I do. I accept him, and I know viscerally that given the right opportunity I could worship him.

I walk to Morningside Park to visit my favorite statue, Bear and Faun and make a stop to look at the [waterfall.](https://www.behindthescenesnyc.com/morningside-park-in-harlem-secret-fun-facts/)

I need some distance from the heady encounter with Elio. 

Gazing at the small picturesque waterfall, I try to dissociate a bit, unbidden a quote from Shakespeare pops into my mind. 

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is  
wing’d Cupid painted blind.”

Hmm. I am just going to leave that there. 

I wander around the park, enjoying the early autumn evening. Eventually I know I have to go home and face Tina. I promised myself that I would handle this, and I will, I just need a few more minutes in the gloaming. 

I make my way back to the apartment, reluctant to initiate the dismantling of our relationship.  
I need to remind myself to be kind, because I can be a cruel unfeeling son of a bitch. 

Ah, but I should have not worried, because as I enter I see all three of her suitcases opened on the small living room floor. 

“What’s this Tina? What’s going on?" 

“Um, I was hoping you wouldn’t have gotten home until after I left so we could avoid a scene. Petra is taking over the lease on her mom’s apartment and wants me to move into the second bedroom. I don’t feel appreciated any more by you and I think its better this way.” 

“Really?” I say assuming a professorial tone that has suited me well when I need to distance myself. “You are making a singular decision about a relationship that involves two people. Were you ever going to talk to me about this?

“What’s there to talk about Oliver? Your actions speak so much louder than any discussion we may or may not have. You’re never home, we never go out, when we make love it feels like you are not even really there. We both know that you can talk circles around me. It’s better if we just end this now. " 

She starts to sob and when I go to comfort her she pushes me away. 

“Just like you’ll never be enough for your parents, I’ll never be enough for you, the difference is, I am not going to stick around and do a half assed job trying to get your approval.”

Ow. That hurt. Tina 1, Oliver 0. 

I have no response. I’m too angry to apologize and too ashamed to stick around. 

I leave the apartment and head to the Broadway Dive Bar. Two Macallans later, the edge is taken off and I head home to a blissfully empty apartment. I shouldn’t feel so relieved but I do. Guilt and relief sort of cancel each other out and I fall into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I read [ an essay](https://whatistalent.wordpress.com/2011/12/21/gender-portrayals-in-classical-greek-statuary/) that informed Oliver and Elio's discussion.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. xx


	4. Dangerous Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Synchronicity and Unmistakable longing

Oliver*****************************

 

I need to refer to some texts that I don’t own so I head over to the Butler Library. Our class trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art is tomorrow. We only have 90 minutes at the museum, and I want to make sure we maximize our time. There are some specific works I want the class to see, but I need to brush up on dates and make sure that what I remember being at the Met is actually at the Met.

I head up to the second floor to pull the two books I have in mind.

As I near the art history section, I am stopped in my tracks. Elio Perlman is at a study table, looking at a huge open reference book. His hand holds up his head, as the light filters through the window. I am gifted his perfect profile, his eyes cast down, black eyelashes against alabaster cheekbone. He is listening to his Walkman while reading, and I don’t think he’s heard me.

 

I stand in silence and gaze at him. He is perfection truly. I can barely take a breath, this brilliant scene renders me immobile. I observe him as long as I can, without being seen myself. This is synchronicity in its’ highest form, as he has been hovering in my thoughts since our two hour 'meeting of the minds.' 

He starts to tap the text in the book and glances down to his bag, I guess to find a pencil. I busy myself looking through the shelves, hiding the fact that I have been openly staring at him for who knows how long. I hear him put his headphones down and look over. He has spotted me, and gets up.

I meet him halfway. Quietly, I whisper “Hi Elio.”

He looks up at me with those sleepy green eyes and smirks, “You’ve discovered my secret” he murmurs, “I’m not that smart, I just spend a ton of time studying, and trying to appear like I know what I am talking about.”

“That makes two of us then,” giving him a conspiratorial wink.

I pat his shoulder, and what was meant as a collegial touch has become sensual by virtue of his downcast eyes and sudden rosy blush.

I pull my hand away as if burned.

Ok what was that?

Without knowing it, I just glided right into dangerous territory, one moment, no words and everything changes.

I hear a hitch in his breath. 

“Well, go back to it then Elio, I don’t want to keep you. See you at the Met – 11 am tomorrow.”

As he goes to sit back down, he appears a bit unsteady, he bumps into the large text he has open on the table, and I see the cover of _my_ book hiding underneath. Hmm. Now isn’t that interesting?

I don’t want to embarrass him so I head back to the stacks to look for the reference material I originally came in for.

Either he is super cagey, and wants to get in my good graces or he’s checking up on my academic chops.  His motivation is a mystery.

Frankly he is an enigma; beautiful, confounding, and complicated. I can’t stop thinking about him.

I find the two books I am looking for. Ah yes. The amazing statue of Eros as a baby is at the Met. I can’t wait to share this treasure with the class, and of course, the New York Kouros which will serve as great comparison to the Anavysos Kouros which we looked at last week. I don’t want to lecture the full time we are there; hopefully some of the students have acquired a newfound awareness and will seek out the work that interests them.

I head to the exit and pass by Elio’s table. He is gone, no trace of him. A flicker of disappointment washes over me. This response is disquieting.

Do I have a crush on my student? How is this even possible?  I have made some pretty lousy decisions over the six months. I need to rein this in.

I rationally review all of my interactions with Elio and determine nothing inappropriate has taken place, and nothing I have said could be misconstrued. This is good.

 

Elio*************************************************

 

Ok. It happened again. He touched me and I got woozy and a bit disorientated. My body completely betrayed me when he impersonally patted me on the shoulder. I can’t even hide what he does to me.

Oh god, and I had his book hidden under Engineering Landmarks of the Western World, it’s a pretty large volume, maybe he didn’t see it.

I can’t deny this anymore. I am fully infatuated with him, maybe more. This isn’t good. I don’t stand a chance; it can only lead to heartbreak and disappointment.

I do this. I set up unattainable goals and then get obsessed until I achieve them. In terms of academics, this system has worked for me. You can’t do this for matters of the heart. You can’t make someone fall in love with you.

I need to talk to David. He’ll have some advice for me. I make my way out of the library, back to the dorm to use the phone.

I spot Oliver across the quad, aviator Ray Bans on, blond scruffy sexiness fully on display. An unmistakable longing lodges in my chest as I watch him stride away.

This semester David hasn’t been around much. He’s either in class or downtown with his artist/dj boyfriend. I call the number he gave me for Pieter’s loft and he picks up.

“Hey David. What’s up man?”

“Hey Mate! Too long no see, what’s going on?”

“Need some of your wisdom and I wanna hang out, when are you coming up to campus next?"

I’ve got a lecture at 2 tomorrow, want to grab some lunch?” 

‘No I have a thing at 11 the Met tomorrow. Want to come with me? It’s sort of why I need some help. It’s about that professor Oliver Katz. I guess I just want you to meet him and tell me what a wanker he is, and help me get over it.”

“Ah fuckin’ Elio man, falling for your professor is such an overused trope. Yah, leave it to me. I’ll suss it out. Meet you on the front steps of the museum at 10:50. Bye.”

That’s David. No unnecessary words ever. He bottom-lines it always. I trust him to help me navigate this; I have to get to the other side without drowning. Right now I can’t study, I don’t want to eat, and my thoughts are running in circles.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. An Outing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all a test

 

Oliver*********************************

 

I asked everyone to meet me at the entrance to the Greek and Roman Art halls to the left of the Museum’s front door. Most of the students are early, like me, anxious to be in the proximity of such monumental work. I have literally been coming here for years and yet it never ceases to thrill me.

Elio appears a few minutes before 11 in the company of a striking man. I am annoyed that he thought it was okay to bring a guest without asking me. His friend is tall and very thin; he looks like he should be the lead singer in a British pop band. Elio approaches me and introduces his friend.

“Hi professor, my friend David who is also a student at Columbia wanted to come with me, I hope it’s okay.”

“It’s always good to ask _ahead of time_ Elio, I can’t really say no guests _now_ can I? Yes, it’s fine,” I say a bit dismissively.  

His friend raises his eyebrows at my borderline rude response, but extends his hand to shake mine.

“Nice to meet you professor, Elio speaks very highly of you.” The accent is pure Eton. I wonder who this guy is to Elio. More distraction, not what I need today.

When I teach in a public space there are always a few museum goers who tend to gather on the outside of the group of students. I don’t mind really. I don’t know why I am having such a reaction to Elio’s companion. (Yes I do.)

When I’m certain everyone is here, and it’s five minutes past 11, I walk the group to stand in front of what is colloquially referred to as the New York Kouros.

“Ok, last week we looked at some slides of the Anavysos Kouros at the National Archaeological Museum of Athens. Here is the New York Kouros that predates the Anavysos Kouros by about 60 years. Right off the bat, does anyone have any observations?” The students toss out remarks commenting on the stylistic differences, height, stance, and proportions. I glance over at Elio, and David is whispering into his ear, his hand possessively placed on the juncture of Elio’s neck and shoulder. Obviously, these two are more than just acquaintances, I wonder if they are lovers.

I quell my resentment, and continue my lecture.

“The appreciation of the male nude is celebrated in this Kouros. There is power and nobility in his nudity, appropriate because he was either a representative or an actual portrayal of a young nobleman. His power resides in his beautiful body and his steadfast gaze.“

I go on to talk about the significance of this particular Kouros, and why scholars are divided about whether or not this form is derivative of contemporary Egyptian statuary. I give the students time to sketch, take notes and look around.

I ask them to meet me at Gallery 164 to talk about the Bronze statue of Eros sleeping. We all wander a bit, marveling at the collection of amphore, the grave monuments that are part of the collection, and famous relief -  the Three Graces. To be in the presence of these objects and share the viewing experience, like so many before us feels like an honor.

We walk into the second large space and then go left in the gallery. 

“I need you all to look at this sculpture. First of all, the base is contemporary so, know that. What’s significant about this particular sculpture? Why is it important? It is a representation of Eros as a baby, he is usually represented as a young adolescent boy, with arrows, often capricious and mean spirited.

But getting back to this portrayal, the artist has captured a moment when the baby has fallen asleep – capturing the innocence and purity of love.

He has dropped his bow. It is incredibly rare to show a god sleeping. The realistic portrayal of the wings, the way the arm hangs down, and the baby flesh is very unusual, as babies were usually represented as miniature adults.

This depiction might have laid the groundwork for the Renaissance renderings of cupid as a fat baby ready to fire his arrows into an unsuspecting mortal.

 David, Elio’s friend then chimes in with “Weren’t Eros’ best friends Pothos and Himeros, the gods of longing and desire?“

“And your point is?” I say, trying to keep the derision out of my tone.

“I was wondering if they are around here somewhere, maybe we should keep a watch out.” There is sniggering among the students.

I smile and nod my head, maintaining my ‘professor face,’ “go to gallery 162 and look at ‘Marble torso of a Youth.’ Some say it represents Pothos, and there is a terracotta pyxis that is decorated with the figure of Himero in gallery 152.“

I decide to take him at his word and not react to whatever it is he may be implying.

“Very well then, lets go look at those two Elio” and he proceeds to guide him out, leading him by the elbow. Elio turns around, looks at me and shrugs his shoulders, with a shit-eating grin on his face.

A few of the more serious students have questions and observations to share. And quite quickly our 90 minutes are up.

Elio’s exit on the arm of David is unsettling to me. There is obviously an attachment there, is it more? Why I care is the real issue.

 

 

Elio****************************

  

David and I find the hot dog cart guy out on the sidewalk in front of the museum, get two dogs, and then go sit on the steps.

“Well he knows his onions about Greek sculpture mate. I’ll give him that,

and he’s fucking fit, but he didn’t like me one bit."

“What?” I ask.  

“He was basically glaring at me the during the entire class.”

“Really?”

“Yes really, you git, and he’s also totally obsessed with you.“

“Why would you even say that David, c’mon.”

“Ok Listen up Elio, you were busy taking notes, I was watching the guy the whole time. He was talking about the beauty and perfection of the young Kouros, and staring directly at you. When I poked him about the gods of longing and desire, his face went completely white.

Gotta give the guy credit though, he didn’t take the bait to my winding him up. He visibly flinched when I put my arm around you and whispered in your ear.

Everything I did today was a test, and he failed all of them miserably."

I put my hands over my face, and attempt to curl up in a ball on the steps of the Met.

  
“Fuck. I am so fucked.”

David scoots close to me and says “not yet mate, but play your cards right, you will be.”

I turn around and punch him in the shoulder. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Ok you’re in a bit of a sticky situation here, Columbia has a strict code of conduct for teachers. If your pal Professor Katz makes a move on you, he could lose his job. He’s a smart guy, I don’t think he’ll let himself be seduced by you either.  I know, transfer to Brown, problem solved.“

“Not helpful douchebag.“

“There is a solution though.”

I look at him to check his level of seriousness, and he doesn’t seem to be joking around at this point.

“I think the college guidelines state something about the teacher having direct academic supervisory or instructive responsibility over the student, **direct** being the operative word. So that means two things; one, you can’t fuck him until after the semester is over, and two, you can’t ever take another class from him.”

Hmm. Interesting. I need to think about this.

I look at my watch and realize we have to get back to campus as David has a lecture at 2 and I have a take home midterm to complete before tomorrow. We run over to Madison Avenue and manage to catch a #4 bus immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [New York Kouros](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/253370)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  [Eros sleeping](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/254502)
> 
> Oliver's talk about the Kouros and Eros sleeping are informed by the videos produced by the Khan academy and are available online.


	6. To Speak or Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clytie, Helios and some Dobos Torte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lifted some dialogue directly from the screenplay just to see if I could make it work in another context. My apologies to the venerable James Ivory and the amazing Andre' Aciman. Your comments make me very happy.

Elio********************

I am Clytie. Doomed to face the sun but never to love him. I watch him, tall and commanding, with blue eyes and golden locks, my Helios. I can only follow his movements but not touch; I am the sunflower to his sun.

 

I am so damn dramatic.

 

But that’s how I feel. I am torn between not showing up for class and just borrowing someone’s notes or showing up and staring for 90 minutes.

(The not showing option is really not a choice. I think attendance is 40% of my grade.)

 

Ever since David told me Professor Katz could lose his job by getting involved with a student, I have totally backed off. I used to maintain eye contact with him, nodding and engaged when he lectured. Now, I keep my eyes down, taking notes or doodling in the margins of my notebook.

Prof has definitely picked up on something being different, at the end of class on Tuesday, he asked me if everything was all right when he handed back my midterm exam, (which I aced!) Now, as I pack up my bag, it looks like he is coming to talk to me.

“Hi Elio, can you stop by my office, we need to talk about your final paper subject. Everyone else has picked a topic.”

“Oh sure, when?”

“Now is fine, if you have time?”

Ah damn. My belly swoops with nerves. I might as well get this over with. He waits for me at the door to the lecture hall. We don’t speak as we go upstairs where the professors have their offices. He waits for me to enter and then closes the door behind me. We both sit.

 

“Are you sure everything is okay? You’ve been distracted and not participating for the last two weeks? I’m concerned Elio.”

 

Without thinking, I mutter under my breath “Is it better to speak or die?”

 

“What Elio? I didn’t hear you; did you say something about dying? Are you alright? Jesus.”

He stands up quickly and comes around to my chair, pressing his hand into my shoulder.

“I know nothing, Professor, Nothing, just nothing.“ I say shaking my head.

 

He goes to sit back down

 

“You know more than most people around here, Elio.”

 

“If you only knew how little I know about things that really matter.”

 

“What things that matter?” - confusion evident on the professor’s face.

 

I look him straight in the eye. I just have to just go for it.

 

“By _now_ , you, of all people should know.”

 

“Why are you telling me all this?” he says.

 

“Because I have decided that it is better to speak than die.”

 

“Look, we can’t talk about such things, we really can’t, especially here in my office.“

 

I feel better. We edged around the topic, but he got it. What happens now?

 

I have delivered up a serve that is impossible to return, I may have gotten the point, but I realize now, I may have lost the game. I get up to go.

 

He rises too, “lets go get a coffee Elio, off campus, I think we really need to talk.”

 

Oliver***************************

 

This brave, brave beautiful boy has laid his cards on the table, albeit indirectly. In so very many ways he is more courageous than I will ever be.

 

We walk rapidly off campus; I am a bit in front of him, heading toward this little Hungarian Pastry Shop I love, on Amsterdam Avenue. It’s very old fashioned, the coffee is the closest to what I remember having in France. Students don’t come here, it’s too quiet and out of the way.

I don’t know what I am going to say, I haven’t admitted anything to myself why would I confess anything to Elio?

 

I hold the door for him and usher him inside.

“What is this place? I must have walked by it a million times and never noticed it.”

“After you try the espresso, I guarantee you will remember this place Elio,“ I say with a small smile.

“I have a feeling I will remember it anyway,” he says, softly, those sloped green eyes looking up at me… a craving flares against my will.

“Did you bring me here to let me down gently Professor?

"Elio, Can you call me Oliver when we are not in class, is that comfortable for you?"

“Yes Oliver, no problem, I’d be happy to.”

“I brought you here because this is my special spot, I don’t share it with anyone. I come here for pastry and café crème. In fact, let me get you something, have you ever had Hungarian dobos torte? Stay right there, don’t move.”

He looks at me with a smile, “You know I’m not going anywhere.”

I order the indulgent chocolate and caramel sponge cake and two coffees, and return to the small corner table.

“Oliver, I’m glad you decided to share this place with me. I feel honored. I hope I didn’t freak you out back in your office.”

“I don’t really know what to do with what I think you told me.”

“What do you think I told you?"

Saved (!) by the waiter bringing our coffees! He places the cake in the center of the table with two small dessert forks.

Elio’s eyes light up when he spots the cake “Torta al cioccolato ! My nonna makes a version of this. Amazing!“ He dives in, scoops up a huge forkful and wolfs it down. His eyes roll back and he moans unselfconsciously.

It almost does me in. My mouth goes dry. Quickly, I take a sip of my coffee, trying to minimize my untoward reaction.

“Elio, I say, clearing my throat, trying to get this whole conversation back on neutral ground, I can’t offer you any more than friendship. It’s what is appropriate and frankly what’s allowed between us.”

“But what if it wasn’t dictated by some external entity, what would you want then? Hypothetically of course,” he asks.

“You’re making things very difficult for me.“

“Why am I am I making things difficult?”

“Because it would be very wrong. I’m not going to pretend it hasn’t crossed my mind.”

“You’ve hidden it well.”

"Elio! It’s my livelihood. It is an imperative; choice and free will have nothing to do with this."

"I would contradict you on this point Oliver, and say free will has everything to do with this, your choice counteracts free will in this case."

"I am not going to get into a philosophical argument with you Elio, I have a feeling I would lose anyway. You are more than a match for me.“

 

“My point exactly Oliver” he tips back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest and gifting me with a beatific smile.

 

I shake my head. He will end me, in some way I am sure. What a mind, what a face. I silently curse the gods of timing and circumstance.

 

“I can offer you my friendship, but I ‘m not exactly sure what that’s worth these days. I’ve been a lousy friend, disappointing son, and a failure as a partner. Teaching is about the only thing I have going for me right now.”  

This is a rare moment of candor, very unusual for me to share my feelings so openly.

 

“You’re a great teacher, so you nailed that one” Elio offers kindly.

“I’ll take friendship Oliver, but it’s under duress. Can we renegotiate at the end of the semester?"

 

He is bold and relentless this one.

 

“Elio. Let’s take it one step at time."  I rest my hand on his arm and give him a small squeeze.

“You still have to tell me what you want to write your final paper on. Have you picked a topic?”

“Is unrequited love as an erotic subtext in Greek elegy too on the nose?” He says without a trace of irony. I shake my head, “A majority of Hellenistic elegies are about death Elio, you know that,“

“Yes, but unreciprocated love feels a lot like death Oliver.”

“Come up with something by Tuesday Elio. _Please."_ ”

We leave the café, Elio headed to his dorm I assume, and I return to my office to try and concentrate on some writing.

 


	7. Saturday in the Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smoke.  
> A jog.  
> Some alone time.

 

Elio ******************************

 

It’s one of those rare early winter Saturdays where the sun is shining, the wind is non existent and you convince yourself that winter in New York City isn’t that bad. I have been up since 8am writing and researching my final paper for the ‘Politics of Desire’ class. It’s not due for two weeks, but I have to kill it - a 35 page epic love poem to Oliver. (Kidding.)

David calls the phone in my dorm room and tells me a joint break in Morningside park is mandatory. Not a bad idea, all work and no play makes Elio really boring. I throw on my jacket and meet him at the corner of 116th and Amsterdam Avenue, and we walk east. It’s so sunny, we can see all the way to the East River from the entrance of the park.  We head down the stone steps and look for an out of the way spot in the sun.  

David always gets the best weed. It feels so good just to hang out with him. It’s a drag that he spends most of his time with Pieter downtown.   I breathe out the smoke, slowly letting all the worry and anxiety leave my body, aaahh, the zen of getting high. I zone out, no need to fill the space with bullshit, the definition of a good friend.

I feel David’s bony ass elbow poke me in the gut. “Hey isn’t that your boy looking all sweaty and gorgeous?” Sure enough, Oliver is jogging by in a t -shirt with the arms and neck cut out, and obscenely small running shorts. A band of sweat has darkened his shirt down the front, he spots us, raises his arm, nods, and keeps on running. Fuck me.

I look at David and we crack up. “I guess he didn’t want to stop.” I say.

“I told you, he hates me,” David responds.

We’re both pretty high, nothing can really dampen our mood.

“It’s only a mile and a half around the park, he’ll come around again, probably in about 12 minutes.“ Sure enough, in a few minutes, Oliver rounds the bend and this time he stops. He is winded, his hands on his thighs, bent over, catching his breath. I am close enough to smell his slick musky scent. God. It takes all my strength not to lick his neck. I must look like a dumbstruck owl because David puts his index finger under my chin to shut my open mouth.   Oliver looks up.

“Whatcha doin’ boys? Smokin’ a little reefer?“

“Yup, all gone now sir, or we would have shared, sorry,” says David with a smirk.

“Bad Timing I guess.” Oliver says shaking his head. “Gorgeous day though.”

I am mesmerized by the drops of sweat coursing down the side of his jaw.   I see moisture trickle down his torso through the open armholes, his skin glistening, it’s too much, I feel overwhelmed. I jump off the bench.

“Oh man, I forgot, I have a thing. I gotta go.” I am itching to get out of the park before I say or do something I will regret. I’ve been on my best behavior since Oliver and I had our ‘talk.’ It’s been excruciating, but tolerable, on the other hand, seeing him panting like this, wet with perspiration, I feel myself getting hard. David has it all figured out though and is not going to let me off the hook so easily.

“Elio, not so fast man, what’s up, I thought we were just going to hang out in the park for a while.” I try and give him some very obvious non-verbal cues but he’s playing dumb. I wanna kill him.

“No man, I’m outta here.” I’m bouncing on my toes, gearing up to tackle the three flights of stairs. 

“Ok fellas, enjoy the rest of your day, I still have a few miles to run.” Oliver takes off on another circle of the park.

David is still laughing as we trudge up the stairs. “You’re all bent out of shape from seeing him aren’t you? I was just ‘takin the piss.’ I have to be somewhere too, my study group is gathering, and the least I can do is show up.”

“Show up stoned? Are you the guy in the group who slacks? There’s always one who just phones it in, by the end of the semester everyone hates that person. Is that you?” I say while we exit the park.  

He grins. “OK, yes. But here’s what I do, nothing for most the semester, and then, at the last minute I come up with a brilliant idea that lands everyone including me an ‘A.’ All is forgiven, done and dusted.”

“OK, remind me to never, ever, do a group project with you. Thanks for the break.  See you this week sometime! ” I smile and veer off to my dorm room.

Once alone, I let my mind drift back to seeing Oliver running in the park. His body is amazing. Picturing his abs and miniscule running shorts has gotten me hard again. I let my hand slip down my jeans and touch myself, thinking about licking down his neck, running my fingers over his amazing ass. I start to stroke my cock, wishing it was his, imagining what it would be like to kiss him, taste his cum, hear him pant because it was me bringing him to the edge, sweating because I was making him feel so good. God I want him. I bring myself off, my orgasm ripping through me. Somehow, I have to make this happen.

Now, some of the tension relieved, I can go back to working on my paper, once I get some food.

 

Oliver*************************************

 

One more mile, I push myself to do another turn around the park. I shouldn’t have stopped, it disrupted my whole flow, but Elio is too much of a temptation to resist. God, isn’t that the truth. It can’t just be the impossibility of it, it’s so much more, **_he_** is so much more.

His awareness is exceptional; curious, deductive, he has all the makings of a monumental thinker, he is going to accomplish important things. I am in love with his mind. There that elevates it doesn’t it? It’s more than lust.

I do, however, spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about his full pouty bottom lip. God just ten minutes with that mouth, that’s all I ask.

I can’t go too far down this road, these running shorts are too small and I will get detained for indecent exposure.

I try reining in my thoughts, and the futility of it all gut punches me. If we were ever to get involved, he couldn’t take any classes in my department. We just couldn’t risk it, and I don’t have any right to deny him the full gamut of a humanities education; It would be a disservice to him and the larger academic community, he’s that brilliant. Until he brings it up again, I am not going to think about it; maybe it was just a passing fancy on his part.

I had a brief fling with a teaching assistant when I was an undergraduate. It was not a great love affair but it was a huge step for me, realizing that I was attracted to both men and women and willing, in this case to act on it. He was a skilled lover and I was a very responsive pupil. It only lasted a few weeks, but an experience that has stayed with me. There have been 2 or 3 (safe) encounters since, but no long-term relationships. I let myself think, just for a moment, that if the circumstances were different, Elio and I could be amazing, together.

I am reminded that I need to send Tina a letter. The way we ended has not been sitting well with me. I need to apologize, and take responsibility for letting the whole thing disintegrate.  I won't share that winning her was the prize and the relationship was the cost. I hope she doesn’t hate me, but I don’t blame her if she does.

 

Usually when I run, it clears my mind, but today’s jog is anything but that. I use my last push to cover the three long flights of stone steps that will lead me back to Morningside drive.


	8. Will this be on the Final?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A test.  
> A test of resolve.  
> Fail.

Elio**********************************

 

I need some serious help with my paper. I am tackling the Elegies of Propertius, a total of 93 poems over 4 books. Ostensibly, a series of love poems for a woman named Cynthia, but also a portrait of the times. I can’t get a handle on it, the work is unwieldy, and I need some advice. I stand outside Oliver’s office, I haven’t made an appointment and I hope he still has some time for me. I wait, sinking to the floor, reading over what I have written so far. Finally the door opens, and two of his teaching assistants from his other class come out. He spies me on the floor, and reaches down to give me a hand up.

“Hi Professor. Do you have a minute?”

“A minute, Elio? It looks like you have forty pages of handwritten work there, what’s going on?”

I gather my disaster of a paper and slump into Oliver’s guest chair. “I am attempting an understanding of Propertius, as you know, and I thought that I could just juxtapose his agenda as a lover –the erotic subtext, and the tension with the political, you know, the private versus the public. It’s all there in the poems, I just don’t know how to frame it.”

Oliver listens very intently. “Hmm, yes, if you had a particular context in which to view the work, you could organize your analysis accordingly. Well, think about it, Elio, when Propertius was writing, he was witnessing a society transition from republic to empire. I think that you can find a contemporary theoretical position that tackles the sexual political dichotomy.”

Oh my god. Oliver is absolutely brilliant. He is handing me the keys to the kingdom here. My mind is racing. Do I analyze the work through the perspective of Lacan, or Derrida? He has solved my dilemma.

I look at him-I am in awe of his mind, his guidance, and his ability to clarify what seemed so impenetrable.  

“The Imaginary, The Symbolic and The Real !   Yes! A Lacanian analysis will totally work here.   You saved me. You’re amazing. You did it! ” I have to hold back from hugging him. But I am thrilled.

 

“ **No** Elio. _**You**_ did it. I just turned the flashlight on. I can’t wait to read your paper. It sounds like the basis of a doctorial thesis.”

 

“Thanks Professor. I don’t think so. Although I have enjoyed your class so much, I don’t think I will be taking any more classes in this department. You know my father always talks about the benefits of a liberal arts education, and I finally see his point. This semester alone I have been exposed to British Romantic Poetry, American Vernacular Architecture, Intro to Psychoanalytic theory, and your class.

I want to be in a world where I can use all of my new found knowledge in concrete form. I am almost positive that I want to become an architectural historian. It combines all the things I love. I haven’t made up my mind yet, but that’s what I am leaning toward. “

Oliver has a smile playing on his lips, He stands up, and I guess our time is over.

Whatever I felt about him before is magnified, times ten.

“Thank you so much for your help this afternoon. I hope you have a good Thanksgiving break, I know what I’ll be doing…It’s due the Monday we get back right? “

“Yes it is Elio, typed, double spaced, see you then.”

 

Oliver***************************************

 

I spent Thanksgiving in the City. I managed to avoid my folks’ annual dinner at their club, an excuse proffered at the last minute did the trick. School has been back in session for a week.   Finals are next week.

Elio’s paper was a revelation. He just nailed it. It’s better than most first attempts at a masters thesis submission, and God knows I’ve read my share of those.

This is the last class before the final.  I am setting up slides in the front of the room eavesdropping on the conversation between Elio and one of the graduate students.

“Yeah, so, I didn’t really count on not being able to go home for the break so I’m a little desperate.” The other student shakes his head and says, “Yeah, okay I’ll ask around.”

I stand up at the front of the class and clear my throat. Everyone settles down.   
“This title of this lecture is ‘Will this be on this final?’ I get a little chuckle out of the group. They are all far too grade obsessed and intense to find any humor the week before finals. It’s a review class, and I am trying to summarize what we covered this semester.

For the final, they will be getting a list of topics to choose from, and I am expecting a well thought out essay with as many dates and references as they can dredge from their young minds.

I think that they were expecting a multiple choice exam that they could study for. Ah no. I want them to **_THINK_**.

I let them know their papers are graded and in my office for pickup.

As the class ends, I see Elio again, talking to more people and saying “so if you hear of anything….”

I pack up the slide projector and make my way out of the classroom. Elio sidles up to me and asks if he can carry something for me and come up and get his paper.

“I’m fine, but sure, your paper is ready, come with me. So I saw you talking to some of the other students and I heard the word desperate, what’s going on?”

I hope I am not speaking out of turn here.

He swallows, and I can’t stop staring at his long beautiful white neck.

“Well my folks are traveling over the holidays visiting family, and I was so immersed in stuff, I didn’t book an airline ticket or make plans. I am trying to find a sublet for the holiday break, no luck yet.“

I hand him his paper. He is gratified to see he got an ‘A’ and looks up at me with a huge smile. “Thank you so much professor. This is great.”

“Don’t thank _me,_ Elio. It was a pleasure to read. I am still processing some of what you came up with. I think there is some profound original thought in there. Are you sure you don’t want to consider transferring to the Classics department?

I am just pushing him a bit here, testing his resolve.

“I’m sure,” he says.

“Ok, wait, here is my phone number, if you find yourself stuck over the break call me, I have a spare room. I don’t want to hear you were sleeping in the subway on Christmas Eve.

“Really Oliver? You would do that for me? That’s amazing. Ok. I’ll let you know. “

 

He leaves and then it hits me. What have I done? The two of us in my 500 square foot apartment, I am insane…. him sleeping in the spare room, who am I kidding? He won’t be sleeping in the spare room. He’ll be in my arms, where he belongs.


	9. A race is on I'm on your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter Break  
> Slo burn = hotter heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ghost in You - The Psychedelic Furs
> 
> A man in my shoes runs a light  
> And all the papers lied tonight  
> But falling over you  
> Is the news of the day  
> Angels fall like rain  
> And love is all of heaven away  
> Inside you the time moves
> 
> And she don't fade  
> The ghost in you  
> She don't fade  
> Inside you the time moves  
> And she don't fade
> 
> A race is on I'm on your side  
> And hearing you my engines die  
> I'm in a mood for you  
> For running away  
> Stars come down in you  
> And love, you can't give it away  
> Inside you the time moves
> 
> This is even better than 'Love My Way " Trust me. For those of you complaining about the slow burn I hope this wait was worth it. (Comments keep them in bed...xxooo)

Oliver*******************************************

The last student straggles out of my final. I take the essays and put them in my bag. End of term grades have to be submitted to the department by Friday. I am going to head up to my office and get started on grading the finals. The entire campus shuts down for the 4-week break, no library hours, no dorms or dining halls, only the administrative office is open for a week. 

I haven’t heard back from Elio about the break. I am guessing one of his friends came through with a place to stay; maybe his pal David is housing him. Frankly, I am disappointed. But I wouldn’t admit that in a million years. 

I am going to spend the next two weeks going to all of my favorite places in the city, get together with some friends who are in town, and avoid my parents like the flu. I will also carve out some time to work on my book. The beginning of a break is always like that for me, I am so ambitious. But what really takes place…sleeping in, lazy reading in bed, Barney Miller marathons on TV, and the next thing you know, a new semester is starting and the whole cycle begins again. Now that I think about it, it’s a little depressing. 

I do an experiment and conceal the name of each student while reading and grading the finals. I have to be honest, some of them are not great. I am correct in guessing about 65% of who wrote what. Of course Elio chooses the most complicated subject and constructs a solid argument using examples taught during the semester and in his own reading. Flawless. 

Enough work, time to head home, grades and finals are sorted. As I step outside, it is twilight, the bitter cold hits me like a wall. Campus is deserted. Today was the last day of exams, and most of the students have left. I take a deep crisp breath in and walk back to my apartment. I am a bit melancholy. I consider a wonton soup, spare ribs stop, but even that doesn’t thrill me. Holiday blues hitting early I guess. 

Once inside, I check my answering machine. 

“Hi Oliver. It’s Elio Perlman. I thought I had a place to stay over the break but it fell through the last moment. I’m really sorry. Could you call me please? The phone number in my dorm room is 212-584-1938. I hope you haven’t left town or anything. Um. Thanks. “

I pick up the phone and dial. He answers immediately. “Hello?” 

“Hi Elio, it’s Oliver Katz, I just got your message."

“Oh hi. I’m sort of embarrassed, but also kind of desperate. Is your spare room still available?”

“Yes of course Elio. It’s yours. Are you the only person in the dorm tonight? Is it weird?”

“Ha. Well, I saw a light on over on the 2nd floor, but it’s like the setup for a bad horror film, yeah it’s really creepy. “ 

“Oh, then by all means pack a bag and come now. The address is 608 W 113th Street between Broadway and Riverside drive, about halfway down the block. I will buzz you in. The apartment is on the third floor."

I do the fastest straightening up job I have ever done. I have a rolled up futon stored in the closet, which I drag into the middle of the floor in my office. It basically takes up the whole room. There is a glass door that separates my office from the living area. I untie the curtain to give the room a semblance of privacy. That’s about all I can do. 

While waiting for Elio, I order some Chinese food for delivery, sesame noodles, spare ribs, and wonton soup. Of course, the food and Elio arrive at the same time. I buzz them in, run downstairs, pay the delivery person, and bring Elio up to my place. I glance down at him, knit cap crunching down his unruly curls, pink tipped nose, rosy mouth, and he gives me a small sweet smile. 

He seems a bit embarrassed or maybe he’s just red-faced from the cold.

“Good timing I guess, the soup smells great” Elio says hoisting his bag up on his shoulder. 

“I took a chance that you hadn’t eaten yet. Hungry?” 

“So hungry, you have no idea, between stressing about finding a place to stay and the final in your class, I haven’t really had any food since last night.”  
“Elio. Really? That’s not good. Here we are,” I open the door, Elio steps in and looks around. “Wow this is nice. Cosy.” 

“I like it. Close to school, and it’s a pretty quiet block. I show him the small study. "Here is the 2nd room, I put a futon in it for you. Throw your bag and we’ll sort it out later. Let’s have the soup while it’s still hot.” 

I take Elio’s jacket and hang it on the hook behind the front door. Grabbing some bowls and silverware from my tiny kitchen I ask Elio if he wants a beer.  
“That would be great! Thanks Oliver.” We both sit on the couch and dive into the takeout. 

“Oh I almost forgot, I brought you a gift,” Elio says after we finish eating. He brings a joint out of his shirt pocket with a flourish. “This is a small token of my appreciation. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“I can’t think of a better way to start winter break actually,” as I grab a pack of matches from on top of the television. “ I turn on MTV and lower the volume for some background music. I light up, take a deep inhale and pass the joint to Elio. “Good Stuff.” 

“Yeah, David has the best drugs, it’s all of his downtown connections, you know, the clubs and stuff.” 

“What’s his deal anyway, are you guys together? Elio looks down and then directly at me. “We were, last year, now he lives with his boyfriend Pieter in a loft downtown. But he’s my best friend in New York.” 

“Ah, so is there someone? Or ?” I sit back down on the couch. The pot must be loosening up my normal reserve. 

Elio smiles. “Naah, you see I’ve been pining for someone out of my reach for the last four months, so no there’s really nobody.” 

A song comes on the television and Elio demands I turn up the volume. “I fucking love [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T87u5yuUVi8) The Psychedelic Furs are so good. We watch the video, or Elio watches the video, and I watch him. At some point he realizes I am looking at his profile and he turns and faces me. 

“You are so brave Elio.” I say softly. 

He almost looks sad, returning my gaze, his green eyes, turned down at the corners, waiting on me.

I take the pad of my thumb and stroke his bottom lip. 

“You are brave because you put all of your cards on the table, and you were willing to risk a lot to let me know how you felt.  
I’ve never done anything like that. I can’t even imagine it.  
I am in awe of you.“

I move my thumb to his jawline, stroking him. He takes a deep breath.

“Can I kiss you Elio?”

“God yes.”

I hold his beautiful face in my hands and press a soft kiss on his mouth. 

Desire coils in my belly. I lick his full bottom lip, and I feel his tongue press my mouth open. He tastes me, little moans escaping from him, spurring me on. I press my nose to the long column of his neck and inhale deeply, a rich mix of soap and sweat and weed, I press kisses there while my hands find their way through his curls. He leans his head back on the couch and regards me with his sleepy sexy gaze. I am ruined. He is a masterpiece. 

 

Elio****************************************************************************

 

God, I ‘ve wanted this for so long. But I never thought it would be like this. He is so gentle with me, a reverence I totally didn’t expect. I want him. I crawl on his lap, my knees on either side of his hips and I kiss him with intention. He pulls away slightly, his chroma blue eyes search my face. I feel his arousal against mine and I press my hand there, letting him know that I want more. 

“Is this okay Elio?” a momentary flicker of uncertainty in his expression. 

“I want this, I want you.” I say in a throaty whisper. Licking and kissing his neck, we are wrapped around each other. I want to see him and touch him and taste him. I can’t get enough. “Can you take your sweater off? I want to see you.” I say, emboldened by my need. 

“Lets go to my bedroom.” He takes both of my hands, and I follow behind him. My heart is beating out of my chest and my mouth is so dry. I break away and ask if I can get a glass of water.

“Of course, of course, do you want me to get it for you?” 

“No, I can get it Oliver.” I go to the kitchen and place my hands on the edge of the counter, bowing my head, trying to catch my breath and calm my raging pulse. I take a deep breath in and let it out slowly.  
I feel Oliver behind me, his bare chest pressed to my back, his hands on either side of mine, spread out, his legs between mine. . He sighs into my neck and says “it’s a lot isn’t it?” I shake my head affirmatively. I am a bit overwhelmed.

I get a glass of water, swig it down and refill it again. He takes it from me and drinks. He turns me around to face him; “Elio, listen. I was not prepared for this to happen. I don’t have any condoms, lube, nothing. I want you in my bed, I want to be with you, but I need to let you know that.“ 

I am confronted with his bare chest, covered in dark blond hair, I cave my head under his chin and stroke his torso, running my hands up and down. He envelopes me in his arms, pressing me close, kissing my forehead.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to do anything.” I mumble into his chest, I look up and see him stifle a smile, “I mean anything, you know, um, that requires that stuff.”  
Ack. This is awkward. 

“C’mere,” His thumbs brush against my cheeks and he closes his eyes and kisses me, I return it ardently “Come to my room, you need to lose those clothes.” 

He gently pushes me out of the kitchen into his bedroom. He pulls my sweater off and moves me to sit on the bed at the same time. I shiver, but it’s not from the cold, its pure arousal. He stands between my legs gazing at me. We are such a contrast, he a golden god, tall, sculpted, imposing. I am acutely aware of how pale and slim I am. 

His hands travel up my sides, mapping me. He bends forward to lick my nipple, I throw my head back, an involuntary moan escaping. 

Oliver gently lays his weight on me as we scoot up on the bed. He continues to lave me with his tongue, stopping to breathe me in when he gets to my neck.  
I palm his groin, he is hard, straining at the zipper of his jeans. We are both in the same predicament. We scramble out of our pants and underwear.  
I am kissing Oliver everywhere, his chest, his arms, his palm, his hungry mouth. Rutting against him, he stills me with his massive hands against my ass.

“Elio, let me take care of you,” he holds his palm up and I lick it. He strokes my cock from bottom to top, smearing my pre-come down the shaft. He then lines himself up with me and strokes us together. “Fuuuuck, that feels so good.” I will not last long. I am so aroused and overwhelmed. 

I put my hand on top of Oliver’s and join him bringing us both off. I come hard, and Oliver comes seconds later, painting my torso, rolling over and burying his face in my side. We both lie there panting. He kisses my stomach and reaches over to grab a tissue to wipe me off. We face each other, lying down on the bed, he folds me in his arms, and kisses my head. “I’m so glad you’re here Elio.”


	10. Unfurled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Morning After

Elio******************************************

I keep my eyes closed, because I am not completely sure where I am. I smell sweat and sex and mmmmmm, what is that? Oh yeah, Oliver. I smile. I crack open my eye and see that I am alone.   I run my hand over the sheet, the impression is still warm. I wonder how long body heat remains in a bed. I don’t really want to get up.

As I fully come to consciousness, it hits me that I am in that netherland; guest, lover, one night stand, mistake, definitely one who shouldn’t luxuriate in his host’s sheets without knowing where he stands. The fact that Oliver has left the bed is not a good sign. I pull on my boxer shorts and prepare to face the music.

I walk in the living room and Oliver is on the couch. He looks at me, concern marring his expression.

“Coffee is brewing Elio, may take a few minutes.”

I sit next to him, too afraid to show physical affection, but never hesitating to say what’s on my mind.

“Does whatever you’re worried about need to be supported by coffee before it’s spoken of?” I ask.

He manages a quick smile (or was that a grimace?)

“Yes.”

We sit.

My leg is bouncing out of nervousness. He stills me with his palm on my thigh. I put my hand over his. What I want to convey to him is that I’m here by my own choice. We don’t need words, or coffee for that matter.

I fold my fingers in between his, not daring to look at his face.   I hear him let out a slow breath.

The coffee maker beeps. 

“How do you take it?”

“With a small amount of milk or cream…”

He brings me a mug of coffee and we sit facing each other on the couch. It’s comical; we are stealing glances at each other over the edge of our cups.

When the caffeine has hit critical level, Oliver ventures an opening volley; “so, I’m really concerned that I pushed you last night - I mean, rushing into to something - that you may have felt an obligation, you know, because you are staying here. When I think that I might have taken advantage of you, I feel sick.“

I just listen, as he stumbles his way through his concerns.

“Oliver, I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do last night, anything that I haven’t thought about since the first time I saw you. You didn’t power trip me or anything. You have nothing to worry about. If, on the other hand, you are regretting last night, that is another discussion. “

“Here’s the thing Elio. I always fuck things up in my personal life because I make rash and impetuous decisions. I don’t want this to be one of the countless times I’ve screwed things up. It’s not regret, last night was just perfect. “ He trails off, looking at me sadly.

“Fear, it’s fear, Oliver, unless you’re bullshitting me and it’s one of those ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ scenarios, in which case spare me. I’ll be happy to sleep on the futon until I can find another place to crash. It’s up to you.”

 The burst of bravado masks my lack of self-confidence. My brain begins the monologue of ‘oh he is just letting me down easy, he’s not that into me, I’m just a skinny undergraduate whose could never sustain his interest’…ad infinitum, ad nauseam.   He looks at me. Those crystalline blue eyes searching _my_ face for _his_ truth.  

He gets up and announces his intention to shower.

I don’t really know what to do. Pack? I don’t have anywhere to go. This sucks. I look around for a phone book. Are there youth hostels in New York City? I have some money, just not enough for me to book myself into a hotel for a month. David and Pieter will be back in two weeks. If I could find a cheap enough hostel – two weeks, I probably could do it, if I stick to cup-a-soup and hot dogs. The alternative is staying here where I am not really wanted, that would be awkward and uncomfortable. I do have the credit card for emergencies. I think this constitutes an emergency. I spot the phone book and heave it over to the coffee table. There are 8 listings for hostels, two are actually close to Columbia. As I cradle the phone in my ear to dial, Oliver emerges from the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips.

“Who are you calling Elio? It’s only 8 am.”

I put the phone down, “Trying to find a place to stay so I am not in your way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, why would you do that? I don’t want you to leave. Please.”

OK now I am really confused.

“Elio, I do some of my best thinking in the shower, and this is what I want to do, just hear me out. Can we start over, as friends, as equals, not as Professor and student? Is that something you would be willing to do?

“So you just want to be my friend? Not anything more?” I ask, sounding just this side of pathetic.

“I didn’t say that, what I want to do is a reset, not go from one set of rules and jump into a relationship with a whole new set of expectations. I want to get to know you and have you know me. I think we can do that and have you still stay here. Would you be willing to try that? If you are uncomfortable or don’t want to, we will figure something out.” 

I feel rejected and hurt and with a bit of bite in my tone I say “so I am sleeping on the futon, until you feel you know me well enough to invite me back into your bed?”

“God Elio,” he scrubs his hand over his face, “not at all, this friendship or whatever it may turn into is important enough to me to not want to fuck it up, like I tend to do. I want this to be different, am I such a bad communicator that my intention was not clear?”

 

I don’t know what to do. I need some time to think, away from Oliver and his mesmerizing charm.

 

Oliver*************************************

 

Oh this is a fine mess. For once I try to get on the right track and I have offended Elio and made him doubt himself. God, if he only knew what a fuck up I was, and how much I want this to work out.   I go into my room, and throw on some jeans and a button down shirt. My bed is taunting me now, with its’ wrecked covers and jizz covered sheets. I strip it, knowing that if I smell his singular scent and all his gloriousness, my resolve will crumble.

 

“Hey Elio, I have to go the administrative office and turn in the final grades. Then I am going to down to MoMa to see the Morris Louis show.   Do you want to meet me at the museum, I’ll buy you lunch?”

 

I hear a muffled response from my office. I peek around the glass door and I see that he is dressed and looks ready to leave. “I didn’t hear what you said. Are you up for the museum?”

“Ah no Oliver. I need to think about what you said. I need some time for myself. I won’t be around today but I’ll sleep on the futon tonight.”

“Ok Elio. I understand. I hope that you will give my request some consideration. I want to spend time with you.” I go over to my desk and pull the spare keys out of the drawer. “Here’s a key to the front door and to the apartment. You are welcome to any food or anything you want in the kitchen. “

“OK Thanks Oliver. I’ll let you know what I decide to do.” Elio grabs his messenger bag, puts on his coat and leaves.

Even when I try to do things right, I screw it up. Why did I take him to my bed last night? Why couldn’t I have just let things develop slowly? Now I am attempting the impossible; to go backwards. Damn it. He is possibly the most intriguing, intelligent, beautiful person I have ever met, and I blew it. My self-loathing threatens to explode in my face. I have to get out of here.

I drop my wash at the local laundry, stop at school to drop off the grades, and take the subway down to the Museum of Modern Art.  

 

Morris’ work is not for everyone. I like it. It’s the kind of painting that to the uneducated eye looks simple and reductive, but for me it is contemplative and pleasingly sparse. I look at all of the 45 paintings in the exhibit, just letting the colors and the spaces wash over me.   Sometimes it is not about understanding or analyzing, just seeing is enough. I am glad I came, the [art](http://www.morrislouis.org/paintings) has helped me get out of my own head.

 

I come back to the apartment with some take out pasta and salad, hoping to have dinner with Elio. He is not here, a dash of disappointment settles in my chest.  I pop the rented Vhs tape of Silverado in the machine and watch while eating my pasta.

 

Before going to sleep, I pull out clean sheets, a blanket, pillow and some towels and lay them on top of the futon. I hope Elio is not purposefully staying away.

I read for a while and fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are still reading and enjoying this story. I welcome your comments.


	11. The Incredulity of Saint Thomas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jungian archetypes  
> Doubting Thomas  
> and some homemade chili

Elio*********************

I get back to Oliver’s apartment late, like 1 am. I stealthily open the door, holding my shoes and walk to the spare room. Silently, I use the bathroom, and slip into the hastily made bed. 

It’s easy to kill time in New York City. Just seeing three movies in a row consumes most of my day. Thank god they don’t ask for a ticket stub at the door of each theatre in the multiplex. 

I told Oliver that I needed time to think, but what I really wanted was not to think. The time away today was good. If I take Oliver at his word, and I don’t immediately write this off as some sort of rejection we stand a chance. For once, I can’t study or prepare or practice for this challenge. 

I also can’t sleep. Without the distraction of the movie playing in front of me I am forced to go over the events of the last 24 hours. Being with him in bed was amazing. My heart speeds up just thinking about it. His warm hands and insistent tongue covering every inch of my body, I felt worshipped, like a priceless map being discovered. Everything about him is intoxicating, his gaze, his scent, his sheer physicality. It’s why the pulling away felt so much like the cold cruel let down of a really good high. 

When David moved on, it didn’t come close to feeling this bad. 

Is it possible to be in the presence of the drug without reaching for it? I posit this challenge to myself, can I do what Oliver is requesting, a reset? 

Before I can accept this seemingly impossible task, I need to eat something. I think the only things I have eaten today are red vines, popcorn, and junior mints, no wonder I can’t sleep. 

I tiptoe into the kitchen and open the fridge. Oh! Yum, cold takeout pasta; grabbing a fork, I stand in the light of the open door, inhaling the remains of the dish. It strikes me that there was enough for two, a pang of regret hits me. Elio, the only child, whom the world revolves around, has reared his curly head. Maybe Oliver was orchestrating a rapprochement and all I could think of was myself. 

I swallow thinking about the challenges that are present for both of us, I think his might be learning how to open up and trust himself, and mine is not being an entitled, self obsessed child. 

How do I even start? 

I hear his bedroom door opening and see him cross to go to the bathroom.  
I guess I can start now by not scurrying back to my room and shutting the door. I pick at the oily remains of the pasta, stalling for time. 

Oliver sticks his head around the kitchen doorframe, “Hi.”  
“Hi, this pasta is really good, I hope it’s okay that I’m polishing it off.“  
“Yes, of course. Are you ok?”  
“Yes, I’m fine. Needed some time today, but I’m good.” I reply.

It’s too late (early) to get into anything heavy. Obviously Oliver feels the same way, as I watch him walk back to his room, his gorgeous bare ass just visible in the streetlight glow from the window.  
I rinse my fork and toss out the takeout container. 

Sleep doesn’t come for hours. I read, I think about how the next few days are going to play out and I just don’t have any answers. Finally I fall asleep.  
When I awaken, it’s 11am, and the apartment is empty. No note. Nothing. Is Oliver giving me a taste of my own medicine from yesterday or is he just busy? I make some coffee and turn on the TV. 

Using Oliver’s phone, I check the answering machine in my dorm room. There are two messages, one from my folks leaving a number to reach them in France, and one from a college friend who lives in the city, inviting me to meet some of her friends from high school.  
A cold Saturday in December with holiday shopping frenzy at its’ peak, there is no way I want to deal with crowds, I hunker down and cook some eggs and toast. 

It’s 3pm, I have cabin fever and need to get out of here. As I’m getting ready to go, I hear the front door open and Oliver comes in, carrying groceries, and a 6 pack.  
“Hi let me help you,” I grab a bag and the beer. He takes off his jacket and makes a move to put away the food.  
“Were you just leaving? What’s going on?” Oliver says while opening cabinets and stacking his purchases.  
“I wanna take a walk, I don’t know, get out of here for a bit. Do you want to come?”  
“Sure, hang on, let me just put away all the cold stuff.” 

We both bundle up and head out. I have no destination in mind I just want to walk. We cross Broadway into Riverside Park. We decide to go up to Grant’s tomb at 122nd Street. I’ve never seen it, but I have read about it. 

Luckily, there’s no wind blowing off the river, it’s brisk, the late afternoon sun hanging low in the western sky. It’s nice, just strolling, chatting, observing. It feels easy.  
We come upon the mausoleum and marvel at its’ amazing location above the Hudson.  
“You know the monument’s design is loosely based on Hadrian’s tomb and one of the seven wonders of the Ancient World, the tomb of King Mausolus at Halicarnassus,” 

Oliver looks at me, and smiles. “Of course you know that Elio.” 

We walk around it. It’s seems a little awkward to me, it’s like the architect placed a circular rotunda on the top without scaling it to the classical temple on the bottom. But I keep my mouth shut. 

“You know when Grant became a U.S. President he forfeited his soldier’s pension. He would have died penniless, but he wrote his autobiography, finished it a few days before his death, and it became a best seller. He was suffering from throat cancer, and spent his last summer in Saratoga Springs NY working on his book. Sort of a sad ending for a national hero, don’t you think?” 

“You are like a running sewer of unrelated facts Elio, how do you do it?” Oliver says laughing.  
“Hey!” I poke him hard in the arm. He turns around and starts to chase me around the outer lawn of the memorial. He’s pretty quick, and tackles me down to the frozen grass. We’re both laughing, winded, and now our butts are freezing. I briefly wonder if he is going to kiss me. He doesn't. Hiding my disappointment, I get up and give him a hand, “here old man, let me help you,” I pull him up. 

We continue walking, the temperature starts to drop and we make the decision to return back to the apartment. “I bought stuff to make chili, are you around tonight or do you have plans?” Oliver asks. I hadn’t decided whether to call my friend back and take her up on her offer to get together, but it feels like Oliver is extending an olive branch of sorts. I decide in that moment to stay in with him. 

“I’m around, that sounds good, actually.” 

The smile that lights up his face makes it worth it. God he's beautiful. 

 

Oliver**************************************

I wanted to give Elio some space today. I went down to the NY public library to work in their rare manuscript room. It was a hassle getting there, so many holiday shoppers, but once inside, it was a reprieve from the crowds and noise. I got some serious work done and I’m really pleased. 

Elio seems to have come around, or something has shifted for him. 

I don’t know if it’s possible to retreat from something that is so potent between us, but I want to try to give it more time to ripen and mature, so we’re not just left with a missed opportunity. I so badly don't want to make another mistake. 

The phone rings and I put aside my chili prep to grab it. It’s my Mother, informing me the annual Hanukah dinner is tomorrow night and I have no excuse not to be there. I feel my mood plummet. She asks if Tina has a performance, and I realize that I have not told her that we broke up almost 4 months ago. 

“She’s out of the picture Mother, what time do you want me to be there? 

“Take the 4pm train out of Grand Central, your father will pick you up.” 

“OK see you then.” That’s it. No more mention of Tina. 

My mother is so cold. She doesn’t even pretend to care. I hang up, anger and frustration clouding my thoughts, customary after a conversation with my mother.  
Elio passes by the small kitchen, “if looks could kill, that onion would be d.o.a,” he says glancing at the eviscerated evidence on the cutting board.  
I smile, “yeah, you know, one call from my mother and I want to destroy something. What can I say? 

What are your folks like Elio?“

He takes a moment to respond, “if I could describe them concisely I would say; still in love, insatiably curious, supportive, and borderline invasive at times. Not too many complaints from me actually.“

Now is the time to let Elio know I am aware of who his father is.

“Your dad is Samuel Perlman isn’t he? 

Elio’s eyes grow wide, “You’ve heard of him? What? How do you even know that?” 

“Well I have all of his books, and I saw in his bio that he has a son named Elio so….I put two and two together.“

“That’s just crazy. Wow. How long have you known?”

“A while. I didn’t think it was appropriate to bring up while I was your teacher, but now…since we’re…friends… it’s cool right?” 

“Yeah, I mean it doesn’t change anything or ?”

“No, of course not, I’m just a big fan, and I admire him.”

“What about your folks?” Elio asks, changing the subject.

“I’ll borrow your phrase, ‘to describe them concisely’ I smile at him, “they are withholding, judgmental, and shallow. We have different values and share very little in common, maybe only a last name.“

“Woow. That’s harsh. Seriously they are that bad?” Elio says shaking his head.

“Yeah, wanna come with me Sunday and see for yourself? Brisket, potato pancakes and all the guilt you can stomach, it’s a party.”

“Sure, I’ll go, I like Jewish home cooking and parents love me. I have to meet this Kali- Terrible mother Goddess, she sounds like a trip.” 

“Oh Elio, seriously, it’s much less subtle than a Jungian archetype. I wouldn’t subject you to them. It’s like going up on trial, with no defense attorney. “

“Now I have to go Oliver. I can’t wait.“

“Ok, you asked for it. Calling now to let my mother know.” I leave a message on my parent’s answering machine. “Hi, it’s Oliver, I have a friend staying with me over the holidays and I am going to bring him Sunday night. I hope that’s ok. Thanks. Bye.” 

I finish putting all of the ingredients in the chili pot and put it on a low flame.  
“Do you want a beer? Chili will be ready in about a half an hour. “  
“Yes, sounds good.” Elio grabs the beer and plops down on the couch. 

“So not to get heavy here, but how much do you think your family influences the way that you interact with people? And I am not talking about in the classroom.”

“What do you mean?” Am I like my parents?  
I try to be the opposite: caring, open. I don’t always succeed, but I consciously try not to be like them.” I say a bit defensively. 

“No, I am not talking about that, I am talking about a level deeper than just being different than them,” Elio says. “Meaning, I came from a family that told me I could do anything I put my mind to, that essentially, anything I wanted was mine for the taking. On the surface that’s good information, I mean getting unconditional support and all that, but what it does is set up unrealistic expectations of how the world works. No matter how hard you study, or how smart you are, some things just don’t come your way. As a result, you have a really difficult time dealing with rejection or failure. It’s like the world your parents set up for you was a false one, and you start to doubt everything.”

“I certainly didn’t get that from my folks. I don’t understand what you mean,” I say. 

“Well, for example, if your parents constantly criticized you and told you that your choices were wrong or held back approval, after a while you would cease to trust your instincts and as a result, you might look outside of yourself for validation, which as both you and I know is a recipe for disaster."

He continues, I am frozen in place. "So I guess what I am saying is that no matter what our parents’ intention was, all of us have some internal wound that will never be healed. It’s just a question of recognizing it, and trying to surround ourselves with people who will be mindful of our internal struggle. And, when we overreact, staying conscious of who is driving the bus, is it us or our little wounded child? Does this make any sense?” He asks, looking at me earnestly, seeing if I understand. 

I am staring at Elio. I feel like he has looked into my heart and my mind and flayed me open like a gaping fish. The realization that no matter the intention, a child will internalize the parent’s world view and make it reality makes me want to cry. I swallow and avoid looking directly at Elio. I don’t know why this guts me. I don’t know what to do with this information. 

I get up to stir the chili. 

“Are you a spicy chili person or do you want me to leave the red pepper out?” I call into the living room. 

“Medium is good, or whatever you prefer Oliver, I’m easy.“  
“Cheddar and sour cream on top okay?”  
“Yup sounds great.”

We sit on the couch with our beer and chili, he intuitively picks up on the fact that I don’t want to continue this conversation. 

“There’s a Knicks game on tonight, do you mind if I turn it on?” I ask.  
“No it’s cool.” We watch for a while and Elio goes into the study and comes back with a book.  
When the game is over, I say good night and prepare for bed. 

The chili must have really done a number on my psyche.  
I have a dream where I am the apostle Thomas, the doubting Thomas, who doesn’t believe that Christ has been resurrected until he feels the wounds of Jesus. But then in the dream I am Jesus, and Elio has stuck his finger in my open wound, touching what I know to be my soul. 

It is the truly the most bizarre dream I have ever had, graphic and disconcerting. I awaken with a start. How do I even know this stuff about Thomas and the wound? I’m Jewish! And it hits me, the [painting](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doubting_Thomas#/media/File:Caravaggio_-_The_Incredulity_of_Saint_Thomas.jpg) by Caravaggio.  
I studied it in school. I get a glass of water and go back to sleep. I’ll think about it in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I live for your feedback.


	12. Wonderous Deeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A run.  
> A visit.  
> Some music  
> A chasm.

Oliver**********************************************

It’s 7am on a Sunday Morning. I am wide awake. I use the bathroom, brush my teeth, splash cold water on my face and decide to go for a run. I head out to Riverside Park, down to 96th street, cross over to Central park and run two times around the reservoir and then back up Columbus Avenue. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to think about the dream I had last night, which unfortunately I remember. I don’t want to think about the beautiful, insightful boy sleeping in my office. I don’t want to think about my failed relationship with Tina and my parents. I just don’t want to think. I run about 8 miles, upon returning, the hot shower feels great. 

My head is clearer; it’s true what they say about endorphins.  
I put on some coffee, make toast and eggs and settle on the couch with bliss - also known as The Sunday New York Times. 

Moments later, A sleepy, tousled headed Elio emerges from my study.  
Damn, what he does to me, sweat pants hanging low on his slim hips, a sliver of pale stomach visible below his shirt, the draw I feel to him is visceral. I would like nothing more than to press him against the wall and ravish him. I quell the yearning that curls in my chest, and try and bury the overwhelming need.  
“Good Morning” I manage to say, my voice hoarse from the x-rated imaginings playing in my mind. He nods and sleepwalks to the bathroom. I better rein it in. 

Drowsy Elio stumbles in the direction of the coffee maker and helps himself to a large mug. He joins me on the couch, taking the Culture section of the Times. We sit in companionable silence for a while. 

“Are you sure you want to go with me up to Connecticut this afternoon?”  
“Uh huh, I am compelled to see who brought you into this world,” he gifts me with a lopsided smile.  
“I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you when its’ all over” I say shaking my head.  
“That’s what I’m banking on,” he says, eyes regarding me with a sleepy, sexy stare.  
God help me. 

We grab the subway down to Times Square, switch trains and I have the privilege of showing Elio Grand Central Station, the most glorious example of Beaux Arts Public architecture in the City. The celestial ceiling in the main room mesmerizes him; it is still intact from 1913 and absolutely beautiful. I buy two round trip tickets to Darien and we go downstairs to find the correct track. 

Elio, (the mensch that he is,) suggests that we pick up some baked goods so we don’t arrive empty handed. We go to Zabar’s and buy a pound of Chocolate Rugalach. It’s never pleasant going to visit my parents but being with Elio takes the edge off. 

I decide to stay in observation mode, viewing my folks through his eyes. If I can avoid retreating into defensive, angry Oliver it may not be too heinous of a visit.  
He spends the entire trip looking out of the train’s window, commenting on glimpses of the Long Island sound and the bucolic landscape of Westchester County and Connecticut. As we pull into the station I see my father’s Jaguar idling in the parking lot. 

We hop off the train and head to the car. Opening the passenger door, I sit next to my father.  
I introduce Elio. “Hi Father, this is Elio Perlman, Elio, Reed Katz."

“Hi Mr. Katz, nice to meet you.” My father nods and looks in the rear view mirror. “And how do you two know each other?”  
Oh shit. Elio and didn’t discuss what we were going to say to my parents. It’s infinitely awkward if he tells them that he is my student, oh fucking hell. 

“Oh, I met Oliver through my father who is an academic in Milan. They teach similar subjects and he knew we would get along.”  
Smooth Elio, a borderline vague white lie, nice work. I give him a subtle nod of the head.

My folks live on the shore, our backyard is the inlet of the Atlantic Ocean known as the Long Island Sound.  
It’s a pretentious, oversized fake English estate. I wish I could be in Elio’s head right now as we drive through the gates and see the perfectly manicured lawn and faux leaded glass windows. 

My mother is waiting for us, she appears somewhat confused by the introduction of Elio into the mix.  
She is ever the gracious hostess though, and smiles at him, extending her hand.  
“Welcome to our home Elio, it’s a delightful surprise to meet one of Oliver’s friends.” 

“It’s great to be here, I usually celebrate Hanukah with my family, so it really means a lot to me to be included.  
Thank you.” He is 100% twinkly smile and charm. This should be fun. 

We put our coats in the hall closet and get ushered into the library where there is a menorah set up. Mother lights the candles and her and Elio say the prayers. She then produces 4 perfectly wrapped gifts, and I get a cheek press with a “Happy Hanukah” and a one- armed hug from her.  
She also proffers a gift for Elio, which, when you think about it is remarkable. Elio gives the chocolate pastries to my mother, “and these are for you Mrs. Katz.” I can see his charisma worm its’ way into that dark black hole that is my mother’s heart and it’s fascinating to watch.  
My father stands to the side, arms crossed in front of his chest saying nothing. 

“Elio, come into the kitchen and tell me about yourself, we can bring out the  
dinner plates.”

 

My father asks me if I’d like a scotch, and I enthusiastically accept.  
I wait to see if he is going to ask me anything, and he doesn’t, so I inquire as to his work. He tells me about various goings on and seems pleased that I asked. 

I can’t help but wonder what kind of interrogation is commencing in the kitchen, but I feel confident that Elio can handle the CIA tactics of my mother.  
We stroll into the dining room, and my mother has set a beautiful table as always. During the week, she has some cleaning help, but unlike their friends, they do not have a permanent household staff. 

Her and Elio enter the room holding plates laden with brisket, latkes, (potato pancakes), and French green beans. There are bowls of sour cream and apple sauce on the table. 

I realize that I am bracing for some sort of inquisition but it doesn’t come. Elio asks about the house, the Long Island Sound, and my father’s boat, all the things they love talking about. He is in the process of wrapping my father around his little finger; it is fascinating to watch. It certainly makes for a more pleasant experience than riling them up and turning the meal into World War 3, which I have done more than once. 

“Oliver did you know that Elio was trained as a classical pianist from age 5?” my mother asks.  
“What? No…really?” I say, looking at Elio for confirmation. He nods, a grimace/smile flitting over his face.  
“He said he would play my favorite; Mozart’s concerto no. 23.  
The piano in the living room hasn’t been played in so long, not since that charity cocktail party last year. 

Elio can’t stop complimenting my mother on the food. She asks if he would like a “care package, “ to bring back to the City? He nods enthusiastically.  
Who is this woman and what has she done with my Stepford Mom? 

We adjourn to the living room and Dad offers after dinner drinks. Elio and I pass. 

“Oliver, you must open your gifts, I have to see if the size is right on one of them.”  
I open the larger of the boxes and it is a beautiful light blue V neck cashmere sweater.  
“Mother, this is lovely. Thank you. It’s a men’s extra large, I ‘m sure it will fit.”  
“Just try it on,” she says. I do, it’s flawless. 

I glance over at Elio and he is ogling me with a lewd grin. Damn him. Luckily, it goes right over my parents’ head. That’s all I need. 

Elio, I know yours will fit, but it will make me happy if you open it, she says coquettishly.  
He opens the gift to reveal a soft wool Burberry scarf and immediately wraps it around his neck, he looks like stepped off the runway. How does he do that? 

My parents also got me a wallet and some very soft socks. In a rare show of affection, I kiss my mother on the cheek and whisper “thanks.” She actually smiles at me.  
This is going well. The X factor has got to be Elio. 

He moves to the piano bench, sits down, flips open the cover and launches into the Mozart piece. I am dumbfounded, no words. He knows it by heart, and as far as I can tell, it is flawless. My mother is blissed out, and my father’s eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline in utter astonishment.  
Elio plays for a while. I really don’t know exactly how long because time has become somewhat irrelevant. He stops at what I guess is the end of the first movement.  
My parents are both clapping, rare smiles lighting up their faces.  
This night is one for the books. 

 

Elio******************************************

It’s odd that Oliver’s mother asked for the one piece I played at my final recital in Milan. How’s that for coincidence? It was all worth it to see the look on Oliver’s face. In fact, I don’t think he’s recovered yet. He’s sitting on the couch staring into middle ground, lost in his own thoughts. Truth be told, I’m exhausted. I feel like I singlehandedly kept this entire evening afloat. But I can clearly see that Oliver is just as cold to his parents as they are to him. At some point, and I really wonder when, it’s evident he stopped trying. In their presence he is literally a shell of himself. 

While we were in the kitchen, Mrs. Katz complained that they don’t know any of Oliver’s friends and how happy she was to meet me. She candidly said something like “we try and try with Oliver and it’s always been a battle, since he was 13, we just never see eye to eye. His father and I have given up.”  
I had no response. I find it really sad. 

I see Oliver glance at his watch. “There’s a 8:15 train back into the City, I think we’re going to take it" he says. Mrs. Katz holds up her hand and says “Wait, I packed some leftovers for Elio, let me get them, and a bag for your gifts.”

As we stand at the front entryway, I hug Mrs. Katz who now insists that I call her Beverly, and thank her for the wonderful meal and the very nice scarf. She invites me back to visit “anytime.” 

I think Oliver is in a permanent state of disbelief. Reed, my new fan, takes us back to the station where we wait in the car until we hear the train approaching.  
After a quick good by to Oliver’s father we settle into the warm, empty train car for the ride back to the City. 

The fullness of my belly and the gentle swaying of the train lulls me into sleep almost immediately. I awaken, an hour later, with my head on Oliver’s chest, practically drooling into his coat, his arm curled around my shoulder. He smiles down at me, and my heart squeezes just a bit. I adjust myself in the seat, and apologize. 

“Don’t apologize Elio. You are amazing. I can’t believe you had them eating out of your hand all evening. This is the first time in I can’t remember how long, that our time together didn’t end in slammed doors and stony silence. Your piano playing is astounding,” he then makes a bowing motion as we get up to exit the train. I am blushing a bit. Compliments feel like gold from him, he doles them out so selectively. 

We get a cab home from Grand Central and make our way up to the apartment, which feels more like home than my dorm room ever did.

After I put the leftovers in the fridge, and hang up my coat, Oliver also goes to hang up his coat. He is standing very close to me when he reaches out and strokes the side of my face. 

Looking in my eyes, he says “you made such an effort with my parents - it really means the world to me, all joking aside, I am really grateful.” He kisses my cheek softly, his hand resting at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, his thumb stroking my Adam’s apple. I am holding my breath, waiting to see if he will continue this. He pulls away, “I’m off to bed.” 

Aside from our brief wrestling match yesterday, this is the first time he has really touched me since we spent the night together. I am thrumming from that brief kiss, my entire body awakened and needing so much more. I fall back against the door, closing my eyes and thinking about his hot mouth devouring mine, trembling with thwarted want. 

 

Oliver********************************  
I feel the ghost memory of Elio’s soft cheek on my lips, his long pale neck under my fingertips. I have to be satisfied with these brief touches until I am sure I won’t destroy him, us, whatever this is. How will I know when it is right? Elio is telling the truth when he says that fear is keeping us apart… my fear, my doubts.

I know without hesitation that I could love Elio with no end. That is what scares me. The depth of my feelings are without precedent and it terrifies me. I need a sign, something from the universe that tells me the time is right to fall into the chasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how I see Oliver's parent's [home](https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/76-Arrowhead-Way_Darien_CT_06820_M44380-39472)


	13. A Faustian Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bar.  
> An Alarm clock.  
> A Nor'easter.

 

Elio*****************************************************

 

I finally call Amy back and tell her that I would love to meet her and her high school friends. I have a reasonable fake ID I got freshman year, I am sure I can get into the bar that she mentions down in the village. I haven’t really seen Oliver all day. He got out early this am and now I am going to meet up with Amy - he still hasn’t gotten back.

I’m feeling good about how the dinner went with his parents.   I hope Oliver is too, although you never know with him, he starts overthinking shit and it all comes crashing down. I am the perfect case in point. I don’t know how it’s going to resolve between us. I could obsess about it, but it’s not going to change anything.

I take the subway down to Christopher Street, walk down Grove Street and Chumley’s is here somewhere on Barrow Street. She warned me that it was a little difficult to find. I remember now, 86 Barrow Street, the origin of the phrase ‘to 86 someone’ is to cut them off from more liquor. It all started here. I hope I don’t get 86’d tonight.

 

Evidently Chumley’s was a huge literary hang out back in the day. The door is unmarked but by my extreme powers of deductive reasoning I figure out the entrance.   It’s a speakeasy alright, low ceilings, wood paneling, and hundreds of framed book jackets on the wall. Amy told me that this place was **_the_** hangout for the literary crowd; Edna St. Vincent Millay, Eugene O’Neill, John Steinbeck, ee Cummings, Willa Cather, just a few of the names she dropped, what a cool place to get together for some drinking.

 

I see a table in the corner with about 8 people and I make my way over. Amy is beaming at me, and gets up to give me a quick hug. “Hey Guys, this is my friend Elio I told you about, we live on the same floor in McBain. He’s the lucky bastard with the single.”

“Are you the person who helped Amy pass her History of Western Music Class last semester?” a lanky bespectacled guy asks. “Thank you from all of us,“ he says with a grin. “My name is Spence.”

Everyone goes around the table and introduces themselves. I can’t remember one name. A few of them look familiar, from the dining hall, or just around campus. The others are Amy’s friends from Dalton, a private high school in New York. Two of the girls squish over and make room for me on the hard wooden bench.

There are 3 pitchers of beer on the table, and one of the guys pours me a glass. Someone orders a collection of appetizers; fries, calamari and stuffed mushrooms.

They are a very friendly group and I immediately feel accepted.   Our conversation is freewheeling and touches on assorted topics, from the book jackets framed on the wall (theoretically, all of the works were written while at Chumley’s) to the new movie Platoon, to the racially motivated beatings in Howard Beach Queens.

I am getting flirty vibes from the brunette next to me, and trying my best not to give back too much. Very often my friendliness and enthusiasm gets mistaken for amorous intentions, extricating myself is sticky and uncomfortable. Amy and I never had that, it is one of the reasons we became fast friends. She confided in me about a crush she had, and it set the course for our friendship right away. I wonder if her mystery crush is one of the guys here…could it be Spence? He’s kind of nice looking in an Ed Begley Jr. St. Elsewhere kind of way. The other 2 guys are really great but I don’t see Amy going for either one. I’ll have to corner her and ask later.

Evidently one of the guys has the keys to his family ski house and part of this get together was to plan a two-day ski trip.

He asks if I want to join. “I don’t have any skis or proper gear so…” I say.

“No problem Elio” this guy Jim (I think) says “I have 3 brothers, there’s bound to be stuff you can borrow up there. Say yes, we can pick you up, my folks are lending me the Bronco. We’re going early tomorrow morning. We’ll be back Christmas Eve.”

“OK, sounds good, I’m in,” I say, after giving it some consideration.  “It will be good to get out of the city for a few days.”

 

Oliver and I need some distance, so he can sort out how he feels.

I already know what I want.

 

We finish the beer, split the tab and finalize plans for tomorrow.

It’s only 9:30 but they are picking me up at 8 am sharp on the corner of Broadway and 113th, so I head back to Oliver’s to throw some stuff in a suitcase and get some rest. I don’t think I have seen 8 am in years. I will have to ask Oliver for an alarm.

 

  

Oliver***************************

 

I haven’t seen Elio all day. I miss him. Our timing was off I guess. I’m reading on the couch when he comes in from wherever he’s been.

“Hey” I say looking up from my book. “How was your day?”  

“Really good. I went out tonight with a friend from school and had fun. She’s got a great group of friends. Have you ever been to Chumley’s in the West Village?”

 

“Yes, it’s cool huh? Amazing atmosphere…you almost feel smarter after having had a drink there,” I answer.

 

He hangs up his coat and laughs. “I don’t know about the smarter thing, but yes, so freaking cool.

I am going to go skiing with some of the people from tonight. Do you have an alarm I could borrow? They are picking me up way too early tomorrow morning.”

 

“Oh is it a day trip or…?”

“No, a few days, I should be back by Christmas Eve. One of the guys’ family has a house near Bellayere Mountain, so like 6 of us are gonna ski and hang out.”

 

I smile, and say what I guess is required in this situation, but I’m not really feeling it. “Sounds fun.”

 

I go into my room and unplug my alarm clock and place it next to Elio’s futon. “What time do you want to get up?”

I hear Elio say “7!”

Woo, he must really want to go, I’ve never seen him awake before 11.

 

I walk into the living room where he has picked up my book The Histories of Herodotus and started reading.

 

“You know, Elio, they are predicting a huge nor’easter in the next few days,” I say, “I hope you will be safe up there.”

 

He ignores me.

 

He casually looks over and says that the paragraph he is reading in my book is slightly different when read in the original Ionic dialogue, and he thinks that the University of Chicago translation by David Grene is inferior to the one written by his father. “It lacks nuance,” he says, all of this - without being ironic or having any awareness of his own exceptional intellect.

 

I shake my head.   He is such a unique, remarkable individual. He may be a superior thinker but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry about him traipsing off up north with a bunch of random people, and a huge blizzard on the way. My concern is less parental and more protector. It’s a subtle difference but a difference all the same.

 

I stand over him and put out my hand, silently asking for the book back. He looks up at me and grins.

I want to ruffle his wayward curls, I want to press him against the couch and speak my need into his mouth. I want my fill of him, own him until my hunger is satiated.

 

I do nothing but silently swallow my longing. His smile recedes, replaced by a look that mirrors my internal craving. He gives me the book, his fingers brushing the outside of my hand, warmth flowing up my arm. I could prevent this ski trip nonsense with one well-placed kiss and we could spend the next three days in bed ruining each other. I consider it fleetingly, take the book and place it on the coffee table.

 

The next morning he is gone after a quick cup of coffee and a hasty “see you later” at the door. I push my concerns to the back of my mind and make plans to go to back to the New York Public Library to do more work. After a solid 6 hours of productive research and writing I emerge into a blustery windy mess. The snow is coming down at an alarming rate and the wind is blowing it nearly horizontal. I hustle down to the subway and head uptown along with a couple of hundred wet cold commuters.

I get home, heat up some soup and turn on the news. They are calling this the “storm of the century” of which there is at least one every 5 years, still, 16 inches predicted overnight with no let up in sight. The New York State Thruway is closed down, and that is the main road up to Belaire Mountain where Elio is hopefully safely ensconced. I start thinking…always a bad idea; there are so many things that could go very wrong –did they get groceries? Does the heat in the cabin work? Are the tires on the borrowed car suitable for ice and snow? I have to guess that some of the kid’s parents are as concerned as I am if not more so.

 

I distract myself with the left over Sunday Times crossword puzzle. When that doesn’t work, I flip through the channels on the television, nothing there to distract me. I see a deck of cards on the bookshelf and pull them out. Countless games of solitaire later, I turn on the news again to see if there is any update on the weather. It looks really bad. I feel really helpless. I make myself a cup of tea and try and read. I finally give up and get ready for bed.

At best, I sleep fitfully.

 

When I peer out of the window, all I can see is snow. No cars, no people, nothing, just snow. It is still coming down heavily. I have no idea what time it is, where’s my clock?   Ah. I remember, Elio’s room, I go to retrieve it.

A fresh wave of worry washes over me. It’s 8am Christmas Eve eve and the streets are vacant.    

I make coffee, turn on the news, and watch with horror at the cars piled up on the side of the Thruway and the stories of people stranded.  Would Elio have called if something was wrong? Does he have an emergency contact number in his wallet?

I wait until 9am to call my parents.

 

“Hi Mother. I’m glad you still have phone service, are you two ok?”

 

“Oh Oliver, it’s so nice of you to check in on us. How unusual. Yes we’re fine. We have a lovely fire going, and I’m sure we will get plowed out when the snow is finished. How are you and Elio doing in the City?”

 

“I’m fine. Um, Elio is upstate skiing with friends.“ There is a beat of silence on the line.

She basically repeats what I have said. “He’s skiing with friends? Oh dear. You know they’ve closed all the roads. The conditions are really treacherous. Oh, this is not good. Do you know any of the people he is with?”

“I do not Mother.”

“Now I am going to worry as well. You know, your father and I enjoyed meeting Elio very much. He’s a remarkable young man, so talented and charming. Ok, please let us know when you hear from him.“

 

“I will Mother.” I hang up. Hmm. She actually seems like she really cares about him, that’s borderline revelatory. He’s had that affect on me, why not my mother? She’s not a complete automaton.

 

The extent to which I am worried, and the silent negotiations I am making with a God I don’t believe in, have revealed one thing to me; if something has happened to Elio I will not be ok. 

Was this the goddam sign that I asked the universe for? Is there some mathematical theorem that states: the degree to which you love someone is equal or greater than the amount you will miss them if something happens?  

Any fears and misgivings I had about being with him are now replaced with the fervent wish that he returns safely, all doubts and concerns abolished. What kind of fucked up Faustian bargain is this?  

As the snow continues to fall, I have never felt so helpless and miserable and in love.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading over the story I realize I have an Elio neck kink, and the best readers ever. Thank you for continuing to read and comment. Please don't worry, I love these two as much as you do.


	14. I would walk 500 miles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tacit Acceptance  
> Lasagne  
> A toothbrush

Oliver*************************

I am now numb from worry, as the snow continues to fall and the temperature is dipping alarmingly lower. Elio has got to know that I would be concerned, and I have convinced myself that he would call if he could. That compounds my fear even further. 

The phone rings. My heart leaps out of my chest.

“Hello?”  
“Hi Oliver, it’s your mother. Have you heard from Elio yet?”  
“Oh god, no, I was hoping this call was him. No I haven’t heard a thing.”

“I wanted to check in. I am sure you are beside yourself. You really care for him don’t you?”

Without thinking or censoring myself, I reply, “yes I really do.” 

“He is a special boy, I can see why. We don’t have to discuss the nature of your relationship, it’s not my business but whatever it is, it’s fine.“

Wait. What. Did my mom just acknowledge that there is something between Elio and I, and give her tacit approval? For a brief moment I am shocked out of my worry and concern. 

I have no response to her monumental statement. 

“Mother do you have any suggestions about who to call or any ideas about how to get information?”

“Where did he go skiing? Maybe you could call the local police and see if they have any news?” 

It’s a long shot, but at least I can do something. “They went up to Bellayere, I believe that is in Ulster County. I will call the state and local police. Good idea.” 

“Ok Oliver, please let us know when you find out something, your father and I are worried sick.”  
“Will do.” 

I take a moment to ponder the fact that my parents are possibly discussing my private life and at least my mother is accepting of whatever it might be. 

This is a total game changer. 

I call information and get the number for the local police and the State Trooper’s office in Ulster County. Both lines are busy. 

I call continually which only serves to ramp up my anxiety. I get through to the State Trooper field office after 45 minutes and they tell me no group of skiers has been found or stranded in the area. Power and phone lines are out all over the county. The woman answering the phone asks for Elio’s name and takes my number. She promises to call if he is brought into the station. 

I call Margaretville Hospital after getting the number from the police. No one matching Elio’s description or name has been brought in. I leave my phone number with them as well. 

There is not much more that I can do. I look for something to occupy my time and I randomly decide to make lasagna. I am not a naturally gifted cook, following a recipe requires my utmost concentration and I have to make the half a pound of ground beef I have left over from my chili. I sauté, and chop, boil the noodles, shred the cheese and manage to constructively occupy a couple of hours. 

I glance out of the window, and though darkness has fallen, I can see by the glow of the streetlamp that the snowfall has dwindled considerably. This is good, it means the snowplows will come out and hopefully start to clear the streets and the Thruway. I pick up the phone to call my mother and now our phones in Manhattan have stopped working. I guess the lines couldn’t bear all the weight of the snow. 

I send up another silent prayer to the powers that be to get my Elio home safely. I have not prayed in years, but I do tonight. As I lay in bed, I hear the muffled roar of the snow plows doing their first pass down the city streets. I doze off, floating in that netherland before unconsciousness when I hear the apartment door rattle open. 

I spring up and run into the living room where I see a wet and cold Elio standing in my door trembling. 

“Oh my God! Elio! What the fuck! I put my arms around him and pull him into the room. 

He has no suitcase, his boots are soaked through and he is shaking. 

“I had to get home to you Oliver, wait until I tell you what happened…”

“Lets get you in a hot bath and you can tell me everything.” I say as I hustle him into the bathroom and start running the water.  
I peel off his wet parka, the scarf my Mom gave him, his sweater, all the layers until he is in his underwear, cold and shivering. I hold him close until the tub is filled. 

He gets naked and slips into the hot bath. He lays his head back on the tub and shakes until his body temperature regulates.  
I go into the kitchen to get him a glass of water. As he drinks the water, I see his color returning, his lips losing their bluish hue, his olive/rosy complexion restored. 

I put the bath towels on the hot radiator. 

I sit on the bathroom floor, cross legged by the top of the tub. 

“Oliver, you will never believe this…” 

“Wait Elio, there’s something I have to do…” 

I get up on my knees, place my hands around his precious face and kiss him with all the want and longing and worry that had been plaguing me for the last 48 hours.

It is the kiss of a lifetime. 

When eventually we pull apart he looks at me with a mix of shock and desire, lifting one of his hands out of the water he pulls me to him for another go. 

I don’t care that my hair is wet, that my t shirt is soaked down the front, I only want to feel his lips on mine, for him to know that this is it. There will be no more indecision. 

I will seal our fate together if he lets me.

I go to get him some sweatpants and a warm shirt, when I return, I help him out of the tub and wrap him in the warm towels.  
“You scared the living daylights out of me Elio, there better be a really good story that comes out of this nightmare.”

“I’ve wanted to tell you the story for the last 15 minutes but you insisted on getting me warm and then kissing the shit out of me. What am I supposed to do?” 

He reaches up and pulls me down into another fiery kiss. 

“C’mon get dressed, and you can tell me everything. Are you hungry?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I think I just want talk for a minute.”

“OK, come into my room, get under the down comforter with me and tell me what happened.” 

We both crawl into my bed and take the king sized quilt and put it around our shoulders. He nestles into my lap, my arms held tightly around him. 

“So we get up there on Monday, before lunch. We go to the grocery store, load up on cold cuts, beer, breakfast stuff, and then go to the cabin. It’s snowing pretty hard by now so we grab skis, parkas, boots and head to the mountain. We do maybe two or three runs and it’s a blizzard, zero visibility and people are leaving in droves so they can make it home before the roads get shut down. 

By the time all of us meet up in the lodge there’s like a foot of fresh snow on the road. Luckily, Jim has borrowed his parents’ 4 wheel drive Bronco which does really well in the snow. We drive back to the cabin and make some food and just hang out, watching tv, listening to music, you know, basic stuff. Then the power goes out. 

So we make a fire and hope that it is just temporary. Luckily the heat is powered by propane so we are warm. I pick up the phone to call you and tell you I made it safely – I knew you were concerned, and the line is dead. “

He looks up at me and bites his lower lip, sighs a bit and continues.

“Nobody panics but we all kind of understand that now, the parents will be worried. The cabin is pretty isolated. 

I didn’t realize it, but Jim’s father is the lieutenant governor of New York State, the 2nd in command. Jim is a friend of Amy’s from her ritzy private high school.” 

“Seriously?” I say, “Wow.” Elio shakes his head in affirmation. 

“So we spend day two in the house, we have enough food, cereal and stuff and we are warm, so that’s good. We find all the board games and do marathon Monopoly sessions and play RISK till late in the night. 

Today, when we woke up, the snow was already half way up the windows and because we didn’t conserve the propane by lowering the heat we used it all up. We had only two logs left, the rest were covered by snow outside. So things had suddenly turned a bit dire. 

The temperature inside had dropped to about 40 degrees and we all were walking around with jackets on. I am sure the pipes have burst by now. The snow had not let up and none of us had any idea what to do. 

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to us, Jim’s father had wrangled some upper echelon military connections and had arranged a rescue for us by a US Army Blackhawk UH 60 Helicopter. It is a bit of a dicey deal because the rotors kick up a ton of snow and visibility can be really impaired.”

“Are you serious? You’re not pulling my leg?” I bend around to make eye contact with him. 

“Totally serious. We were just at the stage where we trying to figure out if we were safer staying in the cabin or piling into the Bronco to try and get to a warmer shelter. I think we were evenly split. 

We hear a tremendous roar and see a whirlwind of snow outside the rattling living room window, and then it appears ex nihilo- this huge Military Grade helicopter. A man comes out, comes to the door and tells us we are being airlifted out by order of the Governor! 

“Oh my God Elio, only you.”

“We pile into the helicopter, carrying our bags, leave everything else there and lift off. I was scared shitless. We landed on a rooftop in Midtown Manhattan 45 minutes later.

Everyone wanted me to stay at Amy’s parents place on Park and 71st tonight, but I knew you would be worried sick. Obviously no cabs, buses, or subways were running. I tried calling but the phones were dead.”

“Tell me you walked 48 blocks in the bitter cold to get up here.”

“And here I am.”

I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. I don’t know if it is relief or gratefulness or just an adrenaline rush but I hold Elio tightly and press my face against his back, hoping the tears that leak out get absorbed by his sweatshirt. 

 

Elio************************

 

The last 48 hours were totally worth it, if I can have this. Safe and warm, embraced by Oliver, I hope it lasts, I am a bit gun shy. 

My fatigue is battling with my hunger, and the loud noise my stomach makes causes Oliver to chuckle.  
“Don’t ask me why, but I made a lasagna tonight. I had no appetite, so I haven’t eaten either. Do you want some?”  
I nod, “yes please.”

He gets up to warm the food and I curl up in his bed, stealthily sniffing his scent in the sheets, storing the sense memory in case I am banished again. 

I could easily doze off so I get out of his bed and walk into the living room.

“It will be a few minutes, do you want a hot cup of tea?” 

“No Oliver. I’m fine, stop doting on me.“

He sits next to me and pulls me toward him, kissing my neck. I hear him mumble “let me dote” as he nuzzles under my ear.”  
I should get stranded in a blizzard more often. 

The lasagna tastes like heaven. It’s been cereal and lunchmeat for the last two days. 

“Oliver, my stuff is still at Amy’s so I don’t have a toothbrush or anything. Do you have a spare?”  
“Use mine,” I hear him say as he walks into the kitchen with our dishes.  
“Really?!”  
Why does that feel so profoundly intimate?  
He laughs and says “Elio my tongue’s been in your mouth for the last hour, don’t think twice about it.”  
“When you put it that way…” 

And to be honest, there are other places I would consider putting my tongue so…sharing a toothbrush isn’t all that extraordinary. 

I go brush my teeth and sort of hover to see if Oliver wants me to sleep in his bed or retreat back to the spare bedroom.  
I don’t want to assume. 

He finishes up in the bathroom and stops in the tiny hallway.  
“Elio- what? Is everything okay?” 

“I just don’t know if you…I sort of nod my head toward his bedroom.”

“Oh God. I just thought that you would know Elio, as far as I’m concerned we can fold that damn futon up and never speak of it again. I have a lot to learn about communicating my intentions don’t I?” 

He kisses me on the mouth and whispers “will you help me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ex nihilo - Latin "out of nothing" In this case 'out of nowhere'
> 
> I just couldn't leave you guys hanging all weekend. 
> 
> The comments on the last chapter were extraordinary.  
> Thank you all for taking the time to read, and comment.


	15. The Cult of Elio Perlman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is no remedy for love but to love more.”
> 
> Henry David Thoreau

Elio***********************

I’m so warm. So so warm, maybe because I am encased by a 6 foot 5 inch hairy god of a man who is holding on to me extremely tightly. His face is pressed into the back of my head. His incredibly long leg is over my left thigh. I feel his cock resting in the cleft of my ass. I dare not move. I don’t want to wake him, he probably hasn’t slept well the last couple of nights, I bet he is exhausted. 

I have to pee. I wriggle slightly to the right. I feel his palm tighten around my belly. Ungh. I’m hard. 

This is uncomfortable. I peel him off of me while thinking of non-sexy things. I get to the bathroom and relieve myself. Brush my teeth with Oliver’s toothbrush, and crawl back into his warm embrace. He hums contentedly. We doze.

I feel him press kisses down my spine, his hands splaying across my flanks. He rolls me on my back and looks down at me, heated blue eyes silently consuming me. My heart speeds up and my stomach swoops in a good way. He starts to kiss my neck, breathing me in, making his way down my chest, sucking and tonguing my nipples. I groan and arch toward him, my erection poking his side. He strokes my abdomen, running his hands down my thighs, driving me insane. Curses escape my mouth, “fuck Oliver, goddam it.”  
I’m seeking friction with anything I can find, his torso, his hand, I am desperate. He caresses my balls, soft touches, meant to incite, I am so aroused I can’t think, I can’t control my wanton thrusting. I feel him press me to the bed, his warm mouth closing over my cock. I moan. “Oh God. Oh fuck Oliver fuck.” It is over far too quickly. 

If the thought of Oliver gets me hard, the actuality of him is completely overwhelming. 

I am a bit embarrassed that I came so quickly. When I can form words, I mumble “sorry.” He speaks into my neck, “nothing to be sorry for” and then he kisses me deeply, I taste myself on his lips. 

At some point Oliver and I need to talk about sex (sooner rather than later I’m guessing.) My only experience with men has been with David and that was somewhat limited at best. The few times we actually fucked I always topped. David loved giving and getting head, although penetration was not his favorite. He did it because he thought that was what I wanted, what I was used to, in a manner of speaking. 

With Oliver I want to try everything, I want it all. 

I want him inside me fucking me hard from behind. I want to see him, me thrusting up inside of him, watching him come. If I keep thinking about all the ways I want to be with him I will be hard again in a minute. 

Speaking of hard, I feel him against my hip. Lifting the comforter, I move down the bed and take him in my mouth, a low moan escapes him, urging me on. I have thought about this while watching him lecture, picturing this exact moment. 

I want to be so good for him. 

God, he is enormous, there is no way I will be able to quell my gag reflex -deep throating is not an option here. I flatten my tongue and tease the underside of his gorgeous cock. I lick and suck and touch him, coaxing a slew of curses from his lips as he writhes above me. At one point I press my knuckle on his rim to gauge his reaction. It’s positive, if whimpering is any indication. 

I increase the speed of my ministrations and he comes down my throat with a shout.  
I crawl back and lay my head on the pillow, surreptitiously wiping my mouth on the pillowcase. He’s got that post orgasmic blissed out smile on his face. I plant my face in his chest, breathing him in, peppering small kisses there. 

I have had this exact day dream before, in the library, in class, while doing homework- the fantasy of cuddling post orgasm with Oliver, just reveling in the closeness and intensity, all of my senses awakened, my longing allayed for the moment. The reality is far better than anything I could have dreamed up. His fond smile, his exceptional scent, the tenderness of his kisses, all elements I left out of my elaborate fantasies. 

Would it be too much to ask to stay in this state forever? I roll over and attempt to cover him with my body, his hands cup my ass, and he bear hugs me hard. 

Just in time, I stifle my urge to announce my uncensored declarations of abiding love. That would not be cool, even though it’s how I am feeling. 

Oliver********************************

Ah, this what Shelley meant in Prometheus Unbound ‘Soul meets soul on lovers' lips.’  
I feel it now. I don’t think I ever have before. 

If I wasn’t anchored down in these sheets I would leave my body for the pure joy I am experiencing. I grab on to Elio not just to delight in his beautiful body but to keep me moored. 

The blissful release of the orgasm doesn’t begin to touch this other thing that is blossoming under my ribs, a rich buttery wave of attachment, love even. 

With each passing second it threatens to make breathing a chore as I realize its enormity. 

I can’t indulge my apprehension in this moment. I have to stay present and anchor myself with Elio. I pull his face to mine, kissing him with resolve, dispelling any doubts that this is exactly where I should be. 

Irrevocable declarations play around my lips…I wrench the words back into my mouth…too soon Oliver…

Sex, physical intimacy is the coda in the dance we have been doing for the last four months. I fell for him the first time we spoke in my office, but I never let myself think about having this. But here I am, right on the cusp of giving into my heart’s requirement. 

I am both exhilarated and terrified. 

I feel him curl into my side. I stroke his shoulder, down his arm and back again. 

This feels monumental. 

We kiss it seems for hours until hunger drives us up and into the kitchen. Cold lasagna is rejected for eggs and toast. 

Elio is regaling me with the experience of flying in a Blackhawk helicopter. He is laughing now but assures me he was terrified. 

The phone’s shrill ring takes us out of our reverie. 

“I guess the phone lines are back up” I pick up the receiver “hello?” “Oh Mother! Yes the phone was out, yours is the first call I have gotten. Yes. Elio came in about 12:30 last night. Phones were out in Manhattan. Yes. He’s fine now, a bit shook up when he got home, Oh. OK. Hang on." I put my hand over the mouthpiece. 

“My mother wants to speak with you – are you um ok to...?” 

“Elio grins wide “Yes, yes, give me the phone,” he gets up to grab it. 

“Beverly, hi! Yes I’m fine. No I was never in any mortal danger I don’t think. Thank you for worrying about me. Yes, I’m sure he was...” Elio cuts a look over at me, “Yes all good now. Just going to rest today, you know stay warm and all that. Yes, Thank you Beverly. O.K. bye.” He hangs up. 

I shake my head and laugh. “Elio, I forgot to tell you, on the phone yesterday she made an off handed remark about ‘the nature of our relationship’ and how she was okay with whatever it was.”

Elio’s mouth drops open a bit. “What? You’re kidding right?” 

“No, seriously. I was stunned. It’s you Elio, you charmed your way right past my mother’s intolerance. It’s a gift you know. Maybe you could start a cult. You do have that charisma thing nailed.”

He stands up and gathers the plates to bring them into the kitchen to wash. I stand behind him at the sink. “We could all worship you in the cult;” I kiss his neck. “We could wear your photo around our neck, buy you expensive cars,” I palm his groin, “but I have to be the only one who can have sex with you, otherwise the deal is off.” “Hmm” he says “let me think about this; The cult of Elio Perlman. Ok, I’m up for it, but I am restricting the membership to only one person.” 

He turns around and kisses me ardently. “Are you okay with that?”

“Infinitely,” I reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for your comments they make me so so happy. We will give these two a few more chapters to figure out this thing.


	16. For want of a steadfast lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A movie  
> Some food  
> A kiss

Oliver*****************************

 

Ever since I have lived in Manhattan, on Christmas Day, I always observe the customary Jewish practice of attending a film and then eating Chinese Food. I am compelled to introduce Elio to this fine tradition.

Elio picks an Eddie Murphy film called The Golden Child.   I actually don’t care what we see. We head down to the theatre on Lexington and 86th Street. The theatre is surprisingly full for Christmas day, and then I realize we are on the upper east side of Manhattan, my fellow Jews are also observing. When the lights go down, I reach for Elio and hold his hand. I know that when I remember our first Christmas together, I will probably forget the film entirely but remember the way his hand felt in mine.

We are in the nascent stage of navigating what we are. It feels like I am fighting my own resistance in each moment- my hesitation and self-judgment. It’s not Elio. This is all me. I worry that I am not the right person for him. I am concerned that the student professor dynamic will bleed into our personal life, when, truth be told, often it feels like Elio is more worldly and erudite then I will ever be. I know I am overthinking this. It’s like my mind won’t stop circling around questioning every decision.

Here’s what I do know. I cannot, and would not, walk away from this now. The chemistry and the connection surpass anything I have ever felt. The only action I have to take is to trust. Maybe I should just concentrate on the movie and get out of my head.

 

One of my favorite Chinese restaurants is around the corner on Lexington and 88th street. Elio and I make our way over there and proceed to order way too much food. We are laughing and joking and stuffing our faces.

Elio is educating me on the relatively recent phenomenon of Santa Claus as we know him. Evidently Washington Irving referred to St. Nicholas as the patron saint of New York in 1809 where he was called by his Dutch nickname Sinter Klaas. We have The Coca Cola Company and Norman Rockwell to thank for the current visual we collectively have subscribed to. How he knows these random facts continually astonishes me, It’s part of his charm.

 

Growing old with him will never be boring.

Did I just think that?

 

I shake my head and he looks up at me questioningly.

I quickly rejoinder “No I just can’t believe we ordered so much food. Are you ok with living off leftovers for the next couple of days?”

 

“Not a problem, everything is so good” he responds with a heart stealing smile and crinkled eyes.

I am so gone for him.

 

Elio reaches for the two fortune cookies on the plate and hands me one.

I open it and read it out loud “ **The greatest risk is not taking one**.”

“Ooo Good One!” Elio says and goes for a high five.

 

He’s laughing and thinks it’s funny.

Am I fool for thinking this slip of paper is trying to steer me in the right direction…taking council from a fortune cookie, well, worse advice has been given I'm sure.

 

Elio reads his: **“The man on the top of the mountain did not fall there.**

That’s heavy. I need to think about that.”

 

“Also a good one” I say. Keep it, lets put these on the fridge at home.” Elio smiles down at his plate and doesn’t say anything.

“What?” I ask, tipping his chin up with my index finger. He’s got a bit of blush going, he bites his lower lip. “You said ‘let’s put these on the fridge at home.’ It just felt so right and so comfortable it made me smile, that’s all.”

 

“Well, that’s how it feels being with you Elio, right and comfortable so…”

 

“Can I ask you a question Oliver?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, ok?” I nod, but don’t like the direction this conversation is taking.

 

“A little less than a week ago, you totally backed away from me, from us. What changed? I mean, now it seems like you are all in, and I just want to know what’s different?”

 

“That’s valid Elio,” I take a sip of my Tsingtsao, ”I guess I do owe you an explanation. I think it was a combination of two things. One was I got to spend a little more time with you and got to know you a bit better, I like you even more than I thought possible.”

I smile at him and continue “and the second thing was the whole ski trip blizzard disaster. I was just so worried. And I started to think about what I would do if something were to happen to you. I am ashamed to say that it took something like that to get me to really admit how I feel.“

 

“So how **_do_** you feel?” he says, looking at me with those fathomless green eyes.

 

“I guess we’re doing this now huh?” I say trying to bide my time. He nods his head affirmatively, “only if you want to, I don’t want to put you on the spot.“

 

I take a deep breath. “I’m pretty crazy about you Elio. I think you’re brilliant, and funny, and astonishingly beautiful. I’m terrified I am gonna fuck it up, but I really want something with you.” I blow the remaining oxygen out of my lungs. “There, I said it.”

 

He grins. His voice drops to a whisper “If I could kiss you right now, I would.”

 

I smile back at him. “Well hold that thought.”

 

I go up to the register to pay the check. When I return to the table he is putting some money down for a tip. “Elio I know you don’t have a lot of money, don’t worry about it.”

“No way Oliver, I have some money, I will not let you pay for everything. Let me contribute please. Is 6 bucks ok for a tip on Christmas?”

“Yup, that’s great, lets get out of here, I want to collect on that kiss.”

 

Elio****************************

 

There are plenty of cabs around on Christmas Day. We grab one and head back to Oliver’s. I have slipped a few times and called it home, but I don’t want to take anything for granted. It’s not that I need to cement ground rules, or know completely where I stand, it’s just that I don’t want to get my hopes up to be crushed when school starts again.

 

We discreetly cuddle in the back of the taxi. Our arms are linked, and our feet tangled up together.

 

A few minutes ago, Oliver came clean about his feelings for me. And I believe him. What I don’t trust is his tendency to second guess himself. I keep feeling like this could all go to shit if I make assumptions. It’s interesting that he didn’t ask me how I felt. I think I am much easier to read than he is. He guards his emotional life under lock and key. I think it’s more than just being bi (or gay…) it’s that whole thing about feeling safe expressing your inner thoughts.

 

“What did you think of the movie?” I ask, as the cab makes its’ way uptown.

‘It was ok. It looked really good, the cinematography and the production design were almost better than the silly story.”

“I agree, and there is _something_ about the collective experience of watching a film in the theatre, it’s so different from seeing it on tape on your TV. Also for a comedy the whole group laughter thing is so much more powerful than just sitting at home chuckling. It feeds on itself when others around you are cracking up.”

Oliver hugs me to him, and places a quick kiss on the top of my head. “I have a question for you when we get inside, not now, not in the cab,” he says.

 

We arrive at the apartment and make our way upstairs. As we get to the door, and Oliver is patting down his jacket for the keys, I ask. “What is it, the suspense is killing me, what’s your question?”

He smiles to himself as he is unlocking the door.

 

We hang up our coats. He puts the leftovers in the refrigerator.

He comes and sits next to me on the couch.

“Well, in the restaurant, you asked me how I felt, and now I want to know what you’re thinking- about us, how you feel.”

 

Hmm. I was wrong about him already knowing, or maybe he just wants to hear it directly from me.

“Considering I’m the one who bared my soul while eating dobos torte, I guess you want an update?”

“I’m serious Elio, how are you feeling about this? Me?”

 

“How do I feel about you? God Oliver, I think you’re extraordinary. You are kind, you’re thoughtful, generous, unbearably sexy, brilliant. Sometimes when I look over at you reading, you take my breath away.”

He smiles at me and shakes his head, I’ve embarrassed him I think.

  
“How do I feel about us? I’m scared stiff that you’re going to decide it’s not worth the hassle.” Oliver starts to interject but I continue. “ I know you said you wanted ‘something’ with me, but I also know that you tend to second guess yourself, and I am sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Do you blame me? I’m not going anywhere, I’m just letting you know how I feel.”

“Elio do you think when winter break is over, I’m going to not want to see you, have you be here?”

“Well, yes, that thought has crossed my mind.”

“You must think that I’m a callous ogre if I am capable of something like that. What do I have to do to prove to you that that is not who I am?”

 

I don’t have an answer for him.

Time, I guess, will prove him the steadfast lover.

  
“The one request I have is don’t blind side me Oliver. Don’t let me think that everything is fine and then it’s not. Don’t let your fear make the decisions without talking to me first, please.”

 

Oliver looks pensive. He approaches me and frames my face with his hands.

“I don’t want to hurt you Elio. I only want to love you. Please believe me. Now kiss me like you promised in the restaurant.”

He presses his mouth to mine as his tongue licks my bottom lip. I open my mouth, drawing him in, tasting him, melting in his heat.   My fears are forgotten as I lose all sense of self to his unrelenting fiery kiss. A moan escapes me. I tumble into his heat, his arms, his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Heading to France and the UK for a few weeks without my laptop. Wish I was going to work on The King with Timothée, but no, this is just for fun. I will have my ipad, but may not update. Please don't worry. I will finish this. I think for the entire time I will be in Europe, they will be "bonding" in bed. I know David is back from his holiday in a week or so and I am sure he will make another appearance. 
> 
> So happy you are still reading and enjoying this story. As always your comments and kudos make the whole experience worthwhile.


	17. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some well placed kisses  
> A confession  
> Tickles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recharged big time. The Cotswolds were breathtaking, London of course the best, and the experience of reading Maktub by Eva_Marlowe and walking around Paris simultaneously is sublime. There is something to be said for spending quality time with your best friend. It was just perfect. Thanks for sticking with me on this. Hope you enjoy this fluff.

Elio *************************************

I feel warm kisses all over my body. Some of the kisses placed in areas unused to such affection, I gasp at the novel sensation. My embarrassment is rendered null by undiluted lust. His large hands spreading me, his tongue savoring, deep inhales as if he can’t get enough of me. 

I have never been worshiped like this. It feels as if his desire might consume me, and I will be reduced to a pile of ash in his sheets. I am on the brink of sobbing with some yet unrealized need, when Oliver answers that plea with slicked fingers intent on making me ready for him. He is working me over, fingers in my ass, tongue in my mouth, his body wrapping around me in a greedy hold. I submit freely but it is not enough for him. He means to incinerate me with his hunger. 

“God, I want you Oliver, need you- please,” I managed to say, surprised at my ability to even get out this much.  
“Don’t want to hurt you baby, he says into my neck.”  
“Please now, please Oliver.” He’s got to know that I will never be more ready for him. I am on my back, my arms raised above my head, laying flat on the bed with my legs spread wide apart. I have fully surrendered to him. He is holding himself up between my legs, his arms fully extended on either side of me. I feel him, it stings, it’s too much, I gasp and he stills. I adjust. Breathe in and out slowly. He is watching me intently. I nod. He moves with restraint, and stops, confirming I’m still in the game. He moves again and hits a spot before this moment unknown to me. The pleasure courses through me, neutralizing the burn and stretch. I moan. “Oh god, yes.” He continues to hit my prostate, cresting waves lining up, ready to boil over. If he touches my cock I am done for, I want to prolong it, I’m not ready for this intense connection to be over. 

Oliver increases his pace, sweat dripping from his chest on to mine, sensory overload – his smell, his touch, his sounds, his relentless thrusting – I hear him before I feel him come, so deep inside me, collapsing his arms, his sweaty chest against mine. His hand snakes down between my legs, stroking me and I am done for. 

He kisses my neck my chest, gently pulling out, and tying off the condom. I am not ready to release him when he gets up and goes to the bathroom. I feel needy and wanting, anxiously waiting for his return. He comes back with a warm cloth, and proceeds to gently clean me, telling me I’m beautiful and perfect. Tears start to leak from my eyes. I am not sad. I am overwhelmed. Maybe for the first time I have not been in my head during sex, analyzing, distanced. I am fully present, and it has never been like this, not with David, not with previous girlfriends, not ever.  
Concern washes over Oliver’s face.  
“These aren’t tears of sadness Oliver, I’m happy, so happy. I don’t know why I’m crying. Don’t worry.”  
He lies down next to me and gathers me in, curling around my back; he pulls the comforter around us.  
“Elio, it was perfect, you’re amazing, don’t cry. It was so good baby,” he murmurs into the back of my neck. I turn around to face him, it’s just a bit too much, I hide my face in his chest, tears still streaming. He rubs my back, soothing me.  
This is so not me.  
I take a deep breath and exhale, shuddering, spent.  
Maybe it is me, just a part that’s never been touched before.  
I burrow into him and drift. 

Oliver ********************************

I’ve said it before, albeit in different circumstances, Elio is a wonder.  
I kiss the top of his head, marveling at the lines of his snowy torso curved into my hirsute body, ethereal juxtaposed against commonplace, divine versus earthly. I take a deep inhale of our mixed scents, exhausted yet elated by our lovemaking. 

I awaken a few hours later, and make my way to the bathroom, when I finish, Elio is standing outside the door.  
“Don’t shower Elio, I want you to come back to bed. I need more time with you.”  
He smiles at me and says nothing. He returns to bed, jumping on me, and laughing, a world away from my emotional boy who sobbed into my chest. We wrestle, and I win, ending with a world-class bear hug. 

We are on our backs, entwined, I am gazing up at the ceiling, zoning out. He looks up at me and asks, “When did you first notice me? Were you trying to get me to drop your class?” I wonder if this has been bugging him for the last four months and he finally feels like he can ask. 

“I noticed you right away, Elio. You have an innate charisma, absolutely impossible to ignore. In fact, in my head I nicknamed you Ganymede."  
“You mean like Jupiter’s moon?” he says, creasing his forehead.  
“No” I say, “like Zeus’ cup bearer and eventual lover.”  
“So you were attracted to me right away Zeus?” he says with a trademark Elio smirk.  
“A whole hearted yes, and it probably explains why I wanted you to transfer out. I knew you were trouble,” I admit.  
“Ah, so those transfer slips you waived around the first two classes were specifically for me, why didn’t you make one into an airplane and sail it at my head?”  
“I should have, but thank God I didn’t.” I kiss him. 

“I have a confession to make,” Elio says, staring, like me, up at the ceiling.  
“Hmm” I say, wondering where on earth this might go.  
“The day I ran into you at the library, I knew you were in the stacks, looking at me. You stood there for about 3 minutes just staring. I could see your reflection out of the corner of my eye in the window. I let it go on as long as I could and then I pretended to reach for a pen in my bag. Consciously, I didn’t know what to think, but on some level I knew you were into me.” 

I am slightly discomfited at this reveal, but then again, look where it got us. 

“Okay well if it’s confession time, I saw a copy of my book under the huge tome you were looking at, so I guess we’re even.” I tickle his side to lighten the mood, but not before I see a blush crawl up his neck.  
Tickling leads to begging, and begging leads to negotiating, and before I know it, I have Elio’s cock in my mouth and I am doing my best to inform him that there is no place I’d rather be then in my bed, giving him what I hope is the best head he’s ever had. From the sounds he’s making I may just be succeeding.


	18. Worthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter  
> A call  
> Some answered questions

Oliver ******************************************************************

 

 

Dear Tina:

I hope that ABT forwards this letter and you’ve

gotten this far without ripping it up. I know this apology

is too little, too late, but here it is.  

I feel badly about how things ended between us.

My deepest regret is how poorly I treated you the last 6 months of our relationship. 

You didn’t deserve that. In fact, you are worthy of so much more, and it speaks to your self esteem that you didn’t tolerate any further bullshit from me.

I don’t deserve your forgiveness but I wanted you to know that I am so sorry for the pain and unhappiness I caused. 

Please know that I wish only the best for you, in life, and in love.

   
Oliver

 

That was hard to write. I have been putting it off for a month. It is not easy owning up to being a dick. I have no doubt that I will never hear from her again, but in a perverse way I didn’t write it for her. I have to start cleaning up my life, and Tina is a good place to start.

I don’t believe that just writing a letter makes everything right and good, it doesn’t. What I mean when I say ‘cleaning up’ is taking responsibility for my bad behavior and impulsive decisions and acknowledging how I have hurt people I loved.

 

The far more difficult relationship to heal is the one with my parents. Years of misunderstanding and bad communication have left all of us with what seems to be irreparable damage. I don’t even know where to begin. 

I sit and stare blankly at the papers on my desk looking for answers in a stack of bills waiting to be filed.

I hear the front door open, Elio returns from a rare early morning quest for bagels. I scoot back in my desk chair to acknowledge his return. He is clutching a bag from the bagel bakery in his right hand as he crosses the threshold into my home office. His left hand wends its’ way around my neck to pull me in for kiss. What a perfectly timed distraction.

 

I return his affection with enthusiasm, pulling him down on my lap so I can get some traction on his hot mouth. In less than 10 seconds we have embarked on a massive make out session. I hear the bag drop to the floor, as Elio uses both hands to hold my head in place kissing me passionately. He pulls away and looks at me. A lopsided grin takes over his face and he chuckles “I can’t decide if I want a warm fresh bagel with cream cheese right now or you naked in bed,” his shining green eyes made in to half moons by smiling cheeks.

“What if I told you that you could have both?”

“Yes!” He dives back in for another kiss. Elio is straddling me on my office chair, rutting his jean clad hard on against my tented sweat pants. The only complication is that my chair is on wheels and we are rolling around the confines of my study. We both burst out laughing as we careen full speed into my desk, narrowly missing the bag of fresh bagels on the floor.

“Okay, this isn’t optimal, “ I admit, and he reluctantly backs off from my lap. “C’mon, we’ll eat a bagel and then engage in some mutual debauchery, how does that sound?”

“Mmm” he replies, “they both sound pretty good.”

 

We spend the rest of the morning in bed, laughing, kissing, me fucking him again. It’s sheer heaven.

Elio gets up to pee and I hear him pad into the living room and pick up the phone. He must be checking his answering machine. He peers around the door and asks if he can make a really quick International call and give my number to his parents.

“Of course Elio, be my guest.”

 

I have to laugh at the absurdity of life sometimes. Two years ago, when I was attending a conference in Athens, little did I know that I would be falling fast and hard for the keynote speaker’s teenage son. There are quite a few absurd things contained in that thought actually.

I wonder how much Elio will share with his folks, I remember how discreet he was with my father.

 

I go into the bathroom and start the shower to give him some privacy. Realizing I have left the clean towels folded in my room, I leave the shower running and cross the hall. Inadvertently I overhear the following: “Well yeah, a lot’s happened actually, I pulled 4 A’s this semester, got rescued by a black hawk helicopter, and fell flat on my face in love…”

 

I quietly return to the bathroom and press my back against the door. A million emotions course through my body, the first being utter elation, then it morphs to sheer terror, followed randomly by unreserved joy, gut-wrenching fear, and then the ever popular complete bliss. My heart is pounding, there’s a mile wide smile on my face, and I feel nauseous. I can’t think. I get in the steamy shower and force all thoughts out of my head. Breathe Oliver, just breathe. My beautiful, sweet, darling, Elio is in love with me. It’s one thing to wonder or hope, it’s another to overhear a declaration to one’s parents yet!      

 

The bathroom door opens and a naked Elio steps into the shower. With no hesitation he reaches up to me and puts his arms around my neck and kisses me on the mouth. I close my eyes because I am right on the cusp of being overwhelmed. Elio was incredibly affected by our lovemaking last night, now it’s my turn. My eyes burn, shower spray covering any tears that have leaked out.  I feel his slick slim body press itself against me. Elio instinctively picks up on my emotional reticence. He pulls back from our kiss and says “let me love you Oliver, you deserve this, you deserve what we can have.” And once again he nails it, and cuts right to the heart of the issue. He is correct, on some level I have convinced myself that I’m not worthy of this love.

 

He grabs the wash cloth and the bar of soap and proceeds to gently clean me and touch me, muttering “you’re so beautiful Oliver, you’re so kind, you’re amazing, I can’t believe I get to be with you like this, god…” He literally kneels down to wash my feet and seeing him like this does something to me. I must find a way to let him know that I am so profoundly grateful to have his beautiful soul love me, to get the opportunity to return the love with equal devotion and adoration.

 

Elio******************************************       

 

This right here is the start to one of my newest favorite Oliver fantasies, at his feet in supplication, worshiping him. It proceeds from there, him demanding what he wants and me fulfilling his needs whatever they are. One day maybe we can do this for fun, hopefully soon.

 

I feel his hand on my back helping me back up. “Let me wash your back Elio, here give me the cloth.” He does for me what I did for him, gently scrubbing me, he kisses my neck, and cleans my chest. He soaps his hand up and gives my cock a gentle stroke. I turn my head and look up at him. He smiles. “Shower sex, although a hot idea, is not necessarily that much fun” he says, reaching for the shampoo bottle. He gently rubs my head, scratching my scalp and massaging my skull. I think I purr, it feels so good. We both rinse off and he steps out first. Holding open a warm towel he embraces me. He buries his mouth in my wet curls and I can hear him mumble “God Elio, I’m just so crazy about you, I’m just…” I miss the rest, I can’t tell if he meant me to hear him or not.

 

We both get dressed and I decide to ring David and Pieter’s. I don’t know if they’re back yet, but I really miss David. He picks up on the 2nd ring.

“Elio! Hey mate. Happy New Year and all that. How are you?”

“Good David, I missed you man. How was England? Your family and everything?”

“Right, well there’s a story there, so it might have to wait until I see you. Where did you end up staying over the break? I left a day before your last final, sorry I couldn’t offer you the loft but…you know Pieter and his stuff, it just wasn’t cool.”

“No, I totally understood, totally. Um, I ending up staying at Oliver’s apartment, and like I’m still here.”

“Oliver as in Professor Shagable Katz? Elio! You randy bastard, you did it, didn’t you. I am chuffed. Ok now we have to get lunch immediately.”

“Well let’s meet downtown and then I will stop by Amy’s apartment and get my stuff.”

“Amy? Your friend from the dorm? I’m confused, I thought you were staying with himself…?”

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing David, I will explain when I get there. How about the Landmark at 1?”

“Right. Sounds good.”

 

Boom. He hangs up. Typical.

“Hey Elio, do you have stuff to be washed? I am going by the laundry to drop off clothes and sheets and stuff.” I hear Oliver ask from the other room.

“Actually, I do. Thanks Oliver.” I pick up my dirty clothes and look for something to put them in. He comes in and holds open a large laundry bag and the act of comingling our dirty clothes feels oddly intimate.

 

“Have I told you today how thankful I am that you let me stay here?” I ask Oliver.

He looks at me over his shoulder and says “c’mon Elio, you don’t have to thank me, we’re beyond that aren’t we?”

“No seriously, I don’t want to take your generosity for granted. I’m just really happy ok?”

He smiles and shakes his head at me.

    
“What are your plans today Elio?

“I’m gonna meet David downtown and then head over to Amy’s to pick up my stuff. Then I’ll be back. I don’t know exactly when.”

“Oh David’s back? Hmm. Does he live in the city?”

I can tell by Oliver’s tone of voice he has some trepidation about David. I don’t know why, but it may all stem from that day at the museum. I need to put him at ease.

 

“David lives downtown with his boyfriend Pieter, a dj who spins at a bunch of clubs. Pieter is Dutch. I have only met him once, and he was working so I didn’t get to really talk to him. David is pretty into him though so he must be a good guy.”

Oliver takes a minute and then asks: “how long have they been together?”

 

I happen to know exactly how long because when I returned from freshman year Christmas holiday, David told me he was moving in with Pieter, ending our time as lovers.

“They’ve been together for a year.”

 

Oliver asks the question that has probably been festering now for a month at least.

“What were you guys?”

 

I look over at him to measure the degree to which he is concerned. There are lines between his eyebrows…a sure sign he is apprehensive.

“Well, he was the first boy I ever kissed. We were together as more than friends for just a few months. We’re better friends than lovers for sure.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well first off, I really like him, but I was never in love with him. Our sexual chemistry was not perfectly compatible. I don’t know how specific you want me to get here. Let me put it delicately Oliver, you were the first person to have me the way you did last night and this morning.”

Oliver tries hard in his New England reserved way not to show any reaction, but the creases on his brow disappear immediately.

 

“Really Elio, wow. It would have been good if you had told me…”

“I know. I wanted to have ‘the sex’ talk but it’s kind of awkward and well…” I feel a telltale blush rise up on my neck.

“Yeah. It’s never easy. I guess I should have asked you, was it ok? Are you in any pain now or anything?”

 

I recognize that self doubt that flickers across Oliver’s face and I am quick to jump in.

 

“No god no. It was incredible. I’m slightly sore but that’s to be expected. I promise you, I will always tell you if something feels bad or if I’m uncomfortable. Oliver I have to be honest, the way I feel about you is not even comparable to how I feel or felt about David. It’s a whole different thing.” I use my hand to gesture between the two of us, “What’s here it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I’m so gone for you.”

 

He steps closer to me, and wraps me in his arms. His mouth is on me before I can take another breath. His tongue licks my lips, pressing in my mouth, I can’t help but respond, opening up for him, returning the affection in equal measure.

I pull away reluctantly, noting that I have 23 minutes to get downtown and not be late.

 

“I have to go. God. I wish I could stay and keep kissing you but I’m meeting him downtown in 20 minutes.”

 

“Go Elio, go…have fun. Say hi for me. Let him know we’re together now. That should blow his mind.”

 

I grab my coat and head out. Thinking about what Oliver said, I realize the implications are huge. He has no intention of keeping me as his dirty secret and seems proud to be with me. There was no hesitation in his declaration. It feels like a turning point.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you for all the comments on the last chapter. I love hearing your thoughts and reactions.


	19. Catching Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meal.  
> Some laundry  
> Dangerous territory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Timelosser and Lena_221b, two of the best readers someone like me could hope to have. Timelosser has a way of mirroring back to me my intentions, something I find invaluable. Lena is just wonderfully supportive, and posts inspiring photos on her tumblr. A huge thanks to EVERYONE reading, you are ALL so great to continue with this!
> 
> I also learned something interesting while conducting my research: The correct spelling of Cruella DeVil's last name! Devil !!

Elio**************************

 

It’s so fucking good to see David. He’s waiting for me at the Landmark diner, long legs splayed out, playing with the straw in his Coke. When he spots me a huge grin lights up his face. We hug.

“Did you have a good break man?” I say, sliding into the booth across from him.

His face twists up a bit, and his response is unusually subdued. “My father said Pieter wasn’t welcome in their home. It turned into a big bloody row and got really ugly. We ended up staying with a friend and came home a week early.”

“Oh shit, that sucks. I don’t understand why, I mean you’re out to your folks. What’s the deal?”

“ I don’t really know. It went south pretty quickly. As far as I figure,” David says, “Pieter doesn’t conform to what my parent’s conception of what a man should look or act like. For some reason they are totally threatened by him. I know his self-expression is unique but it’s one of the things about him that’s so cool. All the piercings and ink really set my father off.”

He scrubs his hand over his face, and for a brief second I can see how utterly gutted he is by this.

“I mean if I brought home a guy who looked totally straight, went to Oxford, and was planning on becoming a barrister, they would roll out the red bloody carpet. It doesn’t help that Pieter’s a freelance deejay and my father thinks that’s a trivial profession.

It was really bad Elio. I don’t think I’ll be going ‘home’ anytime soon.”

“Wow, I’m really sorry. What a drag. How did Pieter take it?

“Pieter is pretty mellow you know, but I could tell he was hurt. Yeah. Hurt me too, I mean I love him and when my folks acted that way they were cutting ties with me also. We’ll see how it plays out. Pieter and I are still good though.

Enough about me, tell me everything about Professor Hotness, start from the beginning.”

I tell David about basically being stranded and how Oliver invited me to stay in the spare room. I include the role the gifted joint played in our ill-fated first night together.

“How did you two come back from that? I don’t think I would have stuck around.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “It was rough. I spent 11 hours in a movie theatre. I figured he would either come around or I would find another place to stay and chalk it up to experience. You know what they say: ‘experience is what you get when you didn’t get what you wanted.’“

“Who says that?” David asks smirking at me.

“I saw it on a t-shirt once. Does that count?”

“No not really.”

I punch him semi hard in the upper arm.

“Ow you fucker stop.”

I tell him about the ski trip, the snow, and the helicopter rescue. He is just staring at me with his mouth open.

“Elio, you’ve got to be joking.”

“Oh and I met his parents.”

“You met the sex god’s parents? What was that like?

“They were actually kind of nice. They way Oliver described them I thought I was preparing to meet Cruella DeVil and Hannibal Lecter, but we got along fine.”

 

The waitress comes over and we both order Cheeseburgers and Fries. David asks for another Coke, and I order a vanilla milkshake.

 

“Anyway, I think while I was trapped up in the ski house Oliver realized that he really wanted something with me, I don’t know what went on in his mind but everything has been completely different since I got back. It’s been sort of amazing. I’m in pretty deep David.”

“So you’re in pretty deep or he’s in deep?” David says and then laughs this incredibly dirty laugh.

I just shake my head, and then bust out laughing too.

“Shut up, you should be happy for me.”

“I am mate. I am. How’s it going to be when we go back to school?”

I bite my lower lip and look up at him. “I’m a bit nervous about that. I don’t really know. It’s his job at stake and all, I gotta see how he wants to play it.

Interestingly enough, he wanted me to make sure that I let you know that we were together.”

David huffs out a laugh. “Ah. Perfect. He still isn’t over the whole class trip to the Met thing. He’s a bit of a jealous fucker your man.”

I don’t say anything. Hmm. Oliver makes me feel desired and brings out a carnal side I didn’t even know I had. David’s jealousy remark kind of amps that up for me, and turns me on. Does that make me a bad person? I file this away for future consideration.

Our burgers come, and the fries are skinny and well cooked, just like I like them.

“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve Elio?” David asks while jamming three fries in his mouth at the same time.

“I dunno. Oliver and I haven’t talked about it. You?”

“Well of course Pieter is working. Have you ever been to [The Tunnel?](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tunnel_\(New_York_nightclub\)) I have to admit going to a club and just hanging around the dj booth is getting really old. Maybe you guys want to come down? There’s a cover but Pieter’s allowed to bring some guests.”

“That sounds cool. Let me run it by Oliver. We haven’t been out to a club yet together. It might be really fun.”

David grins at me. “I am really happy for you Elio. You deserve this, you are one of the best people I know.”

A rare compliment from the inscrutable David, I bask in it.

 

Oliver********************

 

Is it possible to be totally energized, focused and inspired yet at the same time distracted by a wanton film loop playing in my head.  I am dropping off the laundry and as the woman behind the counter grabs the stuffed bag, a slight waft of Elio’s scent hits me in the solar plexus. I almost moan out loud, the primal craving makes me weak. My mammalian brain wants to grab the laundry bag and dive in head first.

 

The first few times Elio and I spoke I remember thinking about him and how intuitive and complex his thoughts were. Now that we are lovers, thoughts of him are always with me, not just of his incredible mind but more base things; The way his slender hips rock against me when I have his gorgeous cock in my mouth, the way he throws his head back when I circle his nipples with my tongue, his escalating whimpers of pleasure as he is about to come. How do I function, when all I want is to be back at my apartment, naked with Elio riding me.

I hurry back to my place, with thoughts of changing into my running gear. I spot his hoodie lying on top of the couch. I smother it into my face taking deep gulps of his essence. I am instantly hard. With my left hand I have his sweatshirt pressed against my nose, with my right I stroke myself vigorously. The pressure and intensity is an echo of what I am longing for. Relief when it comes, I know is temporary. I clean up and go for a run in the park.

 

When I return, my mind is a bit clearer. I make a few phone calls to friends that I have been ignoring since the break started. I have been loathe to disrupt this bubble that Elio and I have so recently created.

My friends are few but loyal (hopefully). Two of the guys I have known since prep school. One is a fellow faculty member at Columbia, and Lena a friend from college. We are the kind of friends who can go months without speaking but when we do it is as if no time has passed. I have no plans to make some sort of big pronouncement with Elio, I am hoping it will be more of an organic thing. I am sick of trying to maintain some sort of façade that I think will please everyone. Shit, if my folks are okay with him, my friends will adore him.

Lena is the only one home, for everyone else I leave a ‘hello’ on their message machines.

She berates me for not calling sooner, but her tone is light and playful.

“How goes it handsome? What’s new?” I fill her in on my writing and work stuff and then test the waters, as she is my kindest and most unabashedly accepting friend. “Well, I’ve met someone.”

“Please god not another prima ballerina” she says in a mock serious tone. “One was enough for a lifetime.” She never liked Tina. She also never held back. I resented it at first but now I realize her honesty is invaluable.

“No, it’s a he. And I’ve got it really bad Lena.”

“Woow Oliver, holy shit. That’s amazing. When you’re ready I want to meet him. What’s his name?”

“Elio” I say softly, almost reverently.

“Oh Oliver. I am over the moon for you. What a great way to start 1987. Happy New Year by the way. Do you have plans yet?”

“I haven’t even thought about it. I’ll speak to Elio, why what are you doing?”

“You know me Oliver, Dan and I will probably stay home, drink champagne, eat caviar, blini, and crème fraîche and fall asleep.”

“That actually sounds pretty good.” I chuckle. “Ok I will let you know what we’re up to. I just wanted to call and hear your voice. I miss you. It’s ridiculous that we live in the same city and we can go months without seeing each other.”

“Yes, please let me know, maybe you two can pop by for a glass of champagne on your way to somewhere. Love you Oliver!”

“Love you too Lena, bye”

Would that everyone was like Lena. She didn’t miss a beat. I just have to ease into this reveal.

The phone rings and it’s my mother.

“Oliver your dad just surprised me with matinee tickets to the House of Blue Leaves at Lincoln Center this afternoon, can you and Elio have dinner with us after, at that cute French Bistro up near your apartment?”

“He’s not here right now Mother. But he should be back this afternoon. Can you call when the show is over? I’ll ask.”

“Yes dear, I am so looking forward to seeing him again. He is a delight! And you too of course.”

“Of course.” I feel like I have been propelled into an alternative reality. One where my parents make plans with me in order to spend time with my boyfriend.

“Ok call me later, I should be here.”

“Will do Oliver.”

I file most of the paperwork that I have left on my desk since the break started and then reward myself with a quick afternoon nap. I surface from a deep but brief sleep to see Elio standing in the doorway of my bedroom.

“Hi, Did I wake you ?”

“No, but I felt you staring at me. It’s ok. I just took a short nap. Did you get your stuff from Amy’s? He nods and points down at his duffle. “How did it go with David?”

“Okay. He had a rough time with his folks over Christmas. They basically wouldn’t let him bring Pieter into their house. I can tell he’s really upset.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

Pieter’s super edgy looking, piercings, eyeliner, think [New York Dolls.](https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/new-york-dolls-1)

They just flat out rejected David’s relationship based on appearance alone. They didn’t even spend any time getting to know him or anything.”

“Wow, they make Beverly and Reed look good. Oh speaking of which, my mom called and my folks wanted to have supper with you and me tonight, me being the after thought.”

“Oliver – see that’s what you do, you look for things that they do wrong. You cut them zero slack.”

“You do not want to start this argument with me Elio.”

My voice has turned ice cold.

He immediately backs off.

“Um, Sorry. I’m out of line. You’re right, I don’t want to start any arguments.”

He looks down at the ground, and nervously prods his suitcase with his foot.

“I’m never one to turn down a free dinner, but it’s your call.”

“You have a point. We could get blazing drunk on their dime. When she calls back I’ll say yes.”

Elio just saw a glimpse of me that I am sure scared the shit out of him. I hope this isn’t the loose thread that starts to unravel our little idyll.


	20. The Observer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meditation and Mediation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in Elio's point of view only.

Elio************************

OK, Oliver shutting me down like that was not fun. I am too upset to think clearly, I retreat to his office, shut the doors and pop a tape of Satie’s Trois Gymnopedies into my walkman.  
It always calms me down and lets me get a handle on what I am feeling.  
In high school I used to get nervous about playing in front of people, my teacher had me listen to this piece and breathe deeply, it always helped. I do it now. 

Obviously, Oliver’s parents are a hot button issue for him. I sort of came out of nowhere and criticized him. Even if I do feel that he is being unfair to them, I am coming in at the last act of this play. I have really no idea of what may have happened in the past. Still, to see him freeze me out like that was such a shock, he went from my warm sensual lover to an ice cold demon. I can’t speak with him while I am so upset. I walk circles around the room with my headphones on. I didn’t let Professor Katz bully me in the classroom, and I’ll be damned if Oliver does it within the context of our relationship. It’s also abundantly clear I can’t be scared or angry when I bring this up. 

Between the notes playing on my headphones I hear a tap tap tap on the glass pane of the doors that separate the office from the main room. I see his looming figure through the gauzy curtains. I pull the headphones off, crack the door and raise one eyebrow at Oliver. “You ok?” He asks.  
“I need some more time Oliver.”  
“Alright,” he backs away without protest. 

I continue to pace around the room, it’s not relieving my anxiety. I sit in Oliver’s desk chair and close my eyes. I picture the pool outside my parent’s villa in Crema. It’s late afternoon, the sun is sitting low in the western sky, its’ sepia rays tinting the air with an antique glow. I hear bees buzzing and the water lapping at the side of the deep trough. The honey smell of sweet alyssum that grows between the bricks scents the air. I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. So many happy memories in this place it suffuses me with tranquility. I remain for a while, basking in the still amber air, centering myself. Another couple of deep inhalations and I am back, calmer, in Oliver’s office, on the upper west side, in New York City. A few minutes in the garden was all it took to get back to myself. 

I stretch and then join Oliver in the living room where he is reading. He looks up at me – apprehension in his aquamarine eyes, his mouth a straight line.  
I swallow and resolutely return his gaze, even though my heart is pounding in my chest. 

“I’m fine. I just needed a few minutes. Your reaction to my admittedly insensitive remark really shook me up.  
We don’t have to talk about it now, but we do need to talk about it at some point.”

“No better time then the present Elio, and if we are seeing my parents tonight, I’d rather we resolve the tension between the two of us beforehand.”  
He pats the couch next to him, motioning for me to sit down. 

I nod in agreement. “First off, I’m sorry I just impulsively made a negative comment about you and your relationship with your parents.  
I failed to take into consideration all the stuff I don’t know.” 

Oliver presses his lips together and shuts his eyes in concurrence.

“At the same time, your response stunned me. It was as if someone I didn’t know was standing here. Your reaction was chilling. It scared me.”

Oliver looks at me as if I am speaking a language he doesn’t understand. 

“What Oliver? You look confused.”

He is at a loss for words – this elegant, erudite professor of complicated theories and ancient philosophy is struggling to express himself. 

“I wasn’t trying to scare you Elio, it’s just when I don’t want to talk about something…I get, I guess defensive.”

“Your defense mechanism is powerful Oliver, it felt obliterating.” 

I glance at him - my vulnerability in full view. I continue:  
“if we could figure out another way, instead of going into full defense mode, to table a controversial topic- that would be helpful. I would hope in a perfect world that one day you and I could talk about your relationship with your folks, but I understand this is not the time.”

Oliver doesn’t say anything for quite a few moments. Then I hear a sort of “Hmm.”  
“What?” I ask.  
“You know, you’re the first person who has ever told me ‘when you do ‘A’ I feel ‘B’. Lets do ‘C’ instead. That’s a very powerful, direct communication Elio.” 

He shakes his head a bit, as if he is mad at himself. 

“I wanted to avoid talking about my parents, not to frighten you. You’ve made it clear that my customary reaction has an unintended effect. I am so sorry for that. I don’t know another way to tell you a topic is off limits. Ironically, in my family, an icy stare was enough to stop a conversation in its’ tracks.”

“We’re two intelligent people, we can figure out a short hand that works for us.”

He smiles, and says, “well I know one of us is intelligent, at least.” He puts his arm around me and pulls me toward him.  
He whispers in my neck “I’m so sorry baby.” I settle into his chest, feeling my heart rate start to slow down, his hand stroking up and down my arm, seeking reconnection. 

The phone rings and it’s his mother who suggests we meet at Le Monde Cafe at 7.

It’s cold and brisk outside as Oliver and I head around the corner to a remarkably authentic French Bistro on Upper Broadway. Reed and Beverly are already there, at a table for four in the corner. Mr. Katz shakes my hand and Beverly gives me a warm prolonged hug. I smile, and try to pretend this is not weird or uncomfortable. They have an open bottle of nice French Champagne on the table and Oliver pours us both a flute.  
I ask about the play, and Beverly gives us a short summary and her interpretation of what John Guare’s intention was. 

When the waiter comes by and inquires with a thick French accent what we would like for dinner, I respond in French without a second thought. All three Katz’s are staring at me, Reed confused, Beverly impressed, and Oliver turned on. I feel Oliver’s foot curl around my ankle. Beverly chooses this moment to ask Oliver why he isn’t as fluent as I am. Hmm, a put down and compliment all in one. I silently note Beverly’s passive aggressive comment. 

The dinner conversation is easy. Reed asks me who I know that could wrangle a military helicopter rescue. He seems impressed that the Lieutenant Governor’s son is a friend of a friend. 

Much to their credit, they don’t ask too many specifics about how old I am, or if I am an undergraduate or not. They either don’t want to know, or are too self-centered to inquire. I do notice however, that Beverly constantly criticizes or comments on Oliver’s choices; whether it’s his meal “You are sure you want the steak Oliver? You said it was tough the last time we were here," or his sartorial choices; "Oliver that sweater is so thin, are you warm enough? Why didn’t you wear that sweater we got you in Scotland, the really thick one?” 

It’s subtle actually, is she just a caring mother or a relentlessly critical tyrant? No wonder Oliver doubts himself so completely, his parental foundation has been built on shifting sands. She is a master at disguising her jabs under the cover of concern. I bet she is so good at it she doesn’t even realize she is doing it. It’s a revelation. When she chides Oliver for ordering an espresso at the end of the meal I just can’t hold back any more. 

“Beverly! You are relentless.” I say grinning at her.  
(I can be passive aggressive with the best of them.) 

“What do you mean Elio?” she responds innocently. 

“This has been a lovely dinner don’t get me wrong, but in the course of an hour and a half you have criticized Oliver for his foreign language proficiency, his food choices, his clothing choice, and his decision to have an espresso That’s what I meant by relentless.”  
She looks stunned by my calling her out.  
“Oh I wasn’t criticizing him I was just…” She looks at me like a trapped bird.  
“I guess if you didn’t know us, you’d hear it as criticism, but it’s just the way our family dynamic is.”

“You’re right Beverly, I don’t really know your family, as an outsider, its very different from my family. I think the world of Oliver, so when I observe all the critical remarks it rankles me. I can’t help it.”

“Oliver knows I love him, that’s my way of showing I care.”

Oliver and Reed have been silent during this entire exchange.  
Reed then comes out with this gem “Sometimes Beverly gets a little confused about the nuances between constructive criticism and support.”  
Oliver snorts.  
“I’m starting to feel a little ganged up on ” she says, her voice quavering a bit.  
“Welcome to my world” says Oliver. 

O.K. This is getting a bit out of hand. I have pried open Pandora’s box of dysfunction and I can’t stuff the junk back in fast enough.  
“I’m sorry everyone. I should have just kept my mouth shut.” 

“Actually Elio” Reed says, his voice cutting through the din of the restaurant “It’s good to have an outside observer call us on our shit once in while. We’re in this unhealthy groove we’ve been stuck in for as long as I can remember. No one is happy with it. Now we can’t choose to ignore it any longer. I don’t know where to begin to fix it, but I think you did us a favor.”

Beverly is silent. Oliver is silent but his eyes are shining, and all I want to do is dive under the table. 

Beverly stands up, and announces her intention to use the restroom. “Dear, can you pay the check? I’m ready to go home.” 

After she leaves, Reed says to Oliver “you’re not alone in this you know, ever since you went away to school I bear the brunt of her criticism. She’s worn me down to the point that it feels like a relief when she picks on you. I know that’s not right. Trust me son, we’re going to work on this from our end.”

That right there is a serious reality check. Oliver extends his hand to his father and looks into his eyes as he shakes his hand. 

I stand as Beverly returns to the table. She makes a comment about how polite I am. I swear I see her bite her tongue as if she was going to chide Oliver for not standing up, but she holds back. We all get up to leave, and I thank the Katz’s for dinner. Oliver gives his mother a customary hug and she silently hugs me as well. The four of us split up at the door, the Katz’s back to Darien and Oliver and I up the block to the apartment. 

I don’t know what he’s going to say to me. I don’t know if he’s angry or sad or will ever talk to me again. I certainly don’t expect it when he puts his hand on my waist, presses me up against a street lamp, and kisses me within an inch of my life.  
“What was that for? I ask breathlessly.  
“I’ve never had anyone stand up for me that way Elio. In your sweet brilliant way you confirmed my reality and changed everything. God. I love you." 

And there it is. He loves me. 

I pull him back to me and kiss him deeply. My response is in the kiss. I don’t have the words yet, but I will. 

We hold hands as we walk home.


	21. The Light The Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frequent Flier Miles  
> Peter Gabriel  
> and Disco balls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I describe David as a flânuer- literally a 'stroller' but more of an observer of the modern experience. He is a part of the scene, yet not...David, as you have gathered is a keen spectator.

Oliver****************************************

 

As we walk home from Le Monde I am acutely aware of being uncharacteristically calm. The pulse of apprehension that has been my constant companion since forever is absent. In its’ place, a warm steady undercurrent, seemingly linked to Elio’s hand in mine. I feel witnessed, if that’s a feeling…as if I have been liberated from some isolation booth of disapproval.

We make our way up to the apartment, not saying much. I am loath to let go of his hand. I don’t want to lose this sensation of tranquility. We shed our coats and surprisingly it remains. Getting ready for bed, standing next to him in the bathroom, our eyes meet in the medicine cabinet mirror. I see reflected back to me acceptance and understanding. The ability to give this to me so freely is only possible by one who was raised and nurtured with it. The thought occurs to me that I must meet his parents. I need to see their dynamic in action - a remedial course in unconditional love so I can be that for Elio. It’s glaringly obvious to me that I lack the example I need, to love freely.

As we climb into bed I float the idea. “Elio, do you have plans for Spring break? There’s no mid winter break so we get three weeks off in the Spring.”

He is lying on his side facing me, fingers tracing down my chest.

“No, I haven’t even thought about it. Why?” His palm flattens against my nipple and a frisson of arousal threatens to derail this conversation.

I swallow and continue:

“I have a ton of frequent flier miles saved up from various conferences and I’d like to take you back to Italy.”

His expressive hazel green eyes consider my proposal; I see a thousand thoughts cross his mind.

“Umm, that sounds amazing” he says softly, pressing his lips into my neck.

“Do you want to meet my family? Is that what this is about? Or something else…?” He asks, while running his nose and mouth along my jaw.

I temper the urge to overpower him and lay waste to his restrained seduction.

“I want you to show me your Italy, and yes, I want to meet your parents.”

I pull back to look at him. His mouth is open, his eyelids are heavy with desire, and his lips are rubicund from brushing against my stubble.

I am unable to continue any sort of rational conversation after being confronted with this visual. 

“What do you want right now Elio, my beautiful boy, my soul?” My voice is low and rough, “tell me what you need.”

“You Oliver, I want you. I want to love you, be inside of you, god, more than anything.”

“Make me yours Elio. Take me. ”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

 

I’m in the kitchen pouring myself a cup of coffee. I feel Elio hug me from behind, kisses pressed through my sweatshirt, hands grasped in front of me pulling me to him.

“I forgot to ask you about New Years Eve Oliver” he says reaching for a mug. “It’s tomorrow night. David invited us to hang out at Tunnel, is that something that interests you or…?

“ Being pressed insanely close to you in a room full of half naked, sweaty men doing poppers…I don’t know Elio, what do you think? 

“I guess that’s my answer then” he grins back at me. “It’ll be fun. I mean we probably won’t really get to talk to David or Pieter, but it will be good to go out.”

“I kind of like being cooped up in this tiny apartment with you Elio. Don’t tell me you’re getting “cabin fever.”

He looks over his shoulder at me and goes to put a cassette in the stereo. It’s the Peter Gabriel album “So,” my favorite record released this year. I love every single cut. He sits cross-legged on the couch, singing the lyrics to ‘In Your Eyes’, holding the hot mug of coffee in both hands, my sexy Italian Buddha. My heart swells.

 

Elio

***************************

Pieter’s left our names with the intimidating bouncer at the door. The line is around the block. I hope all these people aren’t still out here at midnight freezing their asses off.

We stopped for a quick drink at Oliver’s friend’s apartment. It was nice. Lena was the first friend of his that I have met and it went well. I could tell Oliver was a bit nervous but he had nothing to worry about, she seemed totally cool.

  
This place, Tunnel, is wild. There are numerous rooms and I have counted like 3 DJ’s spinning totally different kinds of music. When I hear the strains of hardcore Techno House music coming from a cavernous space I figure that’s where Pieter is working. Oliver and I stand on the threshold of the large doorway looking out on two levels of pulsing bodies. Bathed in blue and purple light, the dancers in the cages have an otherworldly look. It’s like a psychedelic Fellini film. The smell of weed and sweat hits me like a wall. The deep base pounding out of the speakers resonates in my tummy.

I grab Oliver’s hand and we try to make our way to the DJ booth. I spot David leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette, it is so packed it takes forever just to go a few feet. I am acutely aware that Oliver is getting cruised right and left. A flash of insecurity washes over me, these guys all have amazing bodies, how could I possibly compete with this array of temptation thrown like an offering at his feet.

As if he is reading my mind I feel him squeeze my hand and pull me back into his torso, his arm resting possessively around my waist. I look up at him over my shoulder and he kisses me uninhibitedly. I feel better immediately.

David pushes off his perch on the wall when he sees us. It’s too loud to talk but he throws an arm around each of us and ushers us up to what looks like an enclosed cabin on top of a platform. Inside, the din is muffled a bit. Pieter has his shirt off, headphones on, his hips swaying back and forth in tight leather pants. My preppie classic blond god Oliver couldn’t be more of a contrast with Pieter and his pierced nipples and circular neck tattoo. He segues into another song and pulls his headphones down around his neck.

“Hey! Welcome to tunnel, glad you guys could make it.” Pieter has a slight Dutch accent, he’s shorter than David, shaved head, with sparkling blue eyes. “Happy New Year by the way.”

“Hey man thanks for getting us into the club, we really appreciate it” I say. "Yes thank you" Oliver adds.

“Not a problem. You guys should find your way to the celebrity club room. I hear they have [nude boys on swings](https://catherinemcgann.photoshelter.com/gallery-image/G00000H_UwZIAOZE/I0000Gsipu0CzUf0/3) tonight. 

David smiles and says “yes well that’s a plan then, but I’ve got to be back here by midnight to snog my man.”

 

A tall Grace Jones look alike sticks her head into the booth to see if anyone wants a drink. Oliver slips her some money and requests four beers. I have to admit; I like being a bit separate from the throngs of people crowding the dance floor. We are cloistered voyeurs; it’s the best of both worlds. I move to the music as Oliver presses up behind me. I catch a look from David and he fucking winks at me. If I was close enough I‘d punch him.

 

Watching Pieter dj is a treat, he’s in the zone, whipping the people on the floor into a frenzy. When he puts on Falco ‘Vienna calling’ he says “watch this.” A group of boys on the floor break into a choreographed dance. People start cheering them on.

Pieter is extending the song by mixing in a techno beat that works well with the original song.   I like his take a lot more than the single on the radio. David told me that people collect bootleg versions of his club mixes. I can see why, he’s really good.

 

We stay for a few more tracks and David announces “We’re going to see naked boys on swings! Lets go Oliver, C’mon Elio. I know the back way to the Celebrity room. If you don’t want to be scarred for life, keep your eyes away from the dark corners…”

He’s right. Various people involved in varied sexual acts in every niche and unlit area, stuff I really didn’t need to see.  
The celebrity room is smaller than where we just were. Chandeliers and swings are mounted on the ceiling, and indeed, 4 nude boys are swinging above the crowd. The atmosphere in here is tinged with a different vibe, it’s a predator/prey situation, and once you figure it out, if you stay, you’re fair game. David, the professional flânuer is unfazed, but for me it’s the stuff nightmares are made of.

Oliver seems amused by it all, but once he looks at me, he instantly knows how uncomfortable I am. We are approached a few times by single men, couples, even someone whose gender isn’t obvious. I’m not having fun. David and Oliver in silent agreement stand on either side of me and we walk three abreast out of the celebrity room and into the main lobby. I feel like I can breathe again. The vibe where Pieter is spinning was fun and even though there was sexual tension in the air it didn’t feel menacing.

David leads us into a small room where people are lounging on couches and daybeds. It’s decorated like a Hollywood version of a Victorian opium den. David comes back from the bar with two rounds of shots. Oliver and I don’t ask what it is, we just raise our glasses and toast to the end of 1986.

 

Being the considerate host that he is, David asks us if we want to score any coke or MDMA and we both pass. If I was to try anything new, I wouldn’t want to do it here, that’s for sure. It’s almost midnight so we head back to the room where Pieter is. I would be happy to spend the rest of the night in the dj booth but Oliver has other ideas. He leads me out to the center of the floor under the giant disco ball. Flecks of light gleam over the dancers, we are all moving to the beat, heaving and surging as one body. Pieter is the puppet master controlling the room, directing the action; I lose myself in the pounding rhythm. Over the speakers I hear a countdown, the last ten seconds of 1986. When the crowd yells “1” a huge net of balloons, glitter and confetti is released and a cheer of “Happy New Year” goes up. Oliver pulls me in for a soul searing kiss, as the rest of the room fades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least a few more chapters ahead. Thanks for sticking with me on this. I love hearing what you think.


	22. I get so lost sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Conclusion  
> Really good Pastrami  
> A tube sock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. so this story is so not canon, but one thing that is true to the book is that Elio, our pal, is an unreliable narrator. Please keep that in mind when you read the first part of this chapter. He brings the drama...I really enjoyed writing this chapter, I hope you enjoy reading it.   
> Would love to know your thoughts as always....

Elio  
*******************************************  
It’s the Sunday before school starts. Oliver and I have been in a little blissful bubble for the last 5 days since New Year’s Eve. We have avoided talking about the inevitable conclusion of our remarkable winter break. My heart aches and I miss him already, even though he is lying right next to me. I know it won’t be the same when schools starts. He’ll be distracted with his classes and new students, and of course I am taking a full course load. Dread lies in my stomach with a heaviness that is almost paralyzing. How can I long for someone when I feel their soft breath on my neck and the weight of their hands on my side? 

We’ve cooked for each other, read out loud to each other, shared our music, and spent countless hours in bed. Once we figured stuff out, our time together has been amazing.   
I am despondent yet at the same time terrified of showing my neediness. I curl into his chest, burrowing into the warmth and comfort. His arms circle around me, he kisses the top of my head. It feels like the conclusion of something. 

I knew it had to come to an end sometime. I just didn’t know I’d feel this way. 

I roll out of bed to make coffee and Oliver groans.   
“No Elio, no, stay in bed, c’mere…”   
If he makes love to me this morning I may cry, and that would be pathetic. I have to pretend at least, that I’m not dying inside. 

I go through the motions, prepare the coffee, run down the block to get bagels, grab the Sunday Times, all the pleasurable little rituals we have created in such a short time.   
Sleepy Oliver walks into the living room when I return, no shirt, sweatpants hanging loose and low. Oh my heart. He kisses me with minty toothpaste breath. How can l leave this and go back to the noisy, sterile, soulless dorm room? Concentrate on my studies! HA!

I look at Oliver, I’m trying to figure out how to make a graceful exit, not turn this into a manifestation of my inner turmoil. We sit on the couch with our mugs.   
“So I guess I’ll head back to the dorm this afternoon. Do you want to have one more freedom lunch?” I suggest.

Oliver’s reaction is manifold. At first, he looks stricken, like he is experiencing an insurmountable loss, then disbelief, and then he consciously schools his features into placid indifference, all within seconds. 

“Oh yeah right. School starts tomorrow,” he says with a slightly furrowed brow. He stares down at his lap. My heart is pounding. I don’t know whether he is going to say something like ‘well this has been nice, thanks’ or ‘don’t go Elio, move in with me, don’t ever leave.’ Logically I know it’s too soon for that. But who says logic and love go hand in hand? I manage to not cry in front of him - I consider that a victory. 

“Yes, lets make a pilgrimage to Barney Greengrass and stuff ourselves with deli food! I’m totally game for that. They have a chopped liver pastrami combo that I would kill for.” Oliver says with a big smile on his face.   
I grimace, ostensibly at the mention of chopped liver, but actually, because how can he be so happy about a fucking deli sandwich when my heart is crumbling on the floor in front of him?

“Oh you don’t like chopped liver Elio? What kind of nice Jewish boy are you?” He chucks me under the chin and I glare at him. 

We finish reading the paper and I start to gather my clothes and books from around the apartment. I furtively catch Oliver’s reflection in the glass doors and he looks absolutely forlorn.   
I place my packed bag by the front door and glance back at him.   
He says softly “I’m really going to miss you Elio. I like having you around.”   
“I’m glad Oliver, I’m gonna miss you too. This sucks.”  
“Yes. It does, it really does. C’mon lets go pig out at the Kosher Deli.”   
I shake my head at his irreverent half assed simile, if that's what it is. 

 

He knows he could just ask me to move in and I would doesn’t he?  
God I’m being ridiculous. I just HATE not knowing where I stand or what’s going to happen. 

Oliver’s right about one thing though; the pastrami here is absolutely phenomenal. The sandwich is huge, and so amazingly good, he suggested I try coleslaw and Russian dressing with it, and it may be the most delicious thing I have ever eaten. The dill pickles are pretty remarkable too, there’s a bucket on the table and you can have as many as you want. 

He is grinning at me as I am stuffing my face.   
“What? What are you laughing at?” As I wipe a string of coleslaw from my chin, “this is all your fault, you’ve ruined me now for …” and I can’t finish my sentence.   
As the tears threaten to spill out, I get up and make my escape to the men’s room. 

I stand in the stall willing my composure back. I hear the door open and Oliver’s concerned voice rings through the bathroom. “Elio are you alright? Do you feel sick?”   
“No Oliver I’m fine, I’ll be right out.”   
“OK, are you sure?”  
“Yes.”

I make my way back to the table. I don’t explain, and thankfully he doesn’t ask me what just happened. The waitress kindly wraps up half of my sandwich – I’ll have it tonight in the dorm, I don’t think the dining halls are open. Ugh. God. 

We walk the mile and half back to Oliver’s. I don’t have much to say, I’m just trying to get through the next hour or so without losing it. 

 

Oliver  
*************************************

He’s left. Picked up his bag and his backpack and he’s gone. 

 

It’s hard to believe that 6 days ago Elio sat cross legged in my living room singing these exact lyrics and it made me beyond happy, and now, I hear Peter Gabriel sing them and I want to curl up and sob. 

‘Love I get so lost, sometimes  
Days pass and this emptiness fills my heart  
When I want to run away  
I drive off in my car  
But whichever way I go  
I come back to the place you are’

How did I not know today was going to be so difficult. I just kept putting it out of my mind. To be honest, I thought Elio would ask to stay, and I would just say yes. I can’t help but wonder if this is a “Tina Situation” all over again. But it’s not. I know it’s not. And, it’s not over. I can’t fathom how we are going to navigate this though. I’m still not sure my department head and the administration are going to be cool with it, let alone the whole coming out aspect.   
All I know is that I miss him right now. 

I go and change the sheets. It smells like us. It’s too much. I straighten up the apartment. Wash his breakfast dishes. Fuck. This is awful.   
I even pull out my vacuum cleaner and start to clean my office. I find one of Elio’s tube socks under my desk. The universe is laughing at me now, just enjoying the hell out of my misery. 

I’m going to go take a nap. When I awaken it’s dark out and dark in my apartment. I hate Sunday nights anyway, but this particular Sunday night is just the worst. I watch 60 minutes, then I try to watch some piece of crap tv movie.   
I’m so restless. I start pacing – the feeling is reminiscent of the night that Elio was trapped upstate during the snowstorm except he’s two blocks away in the goddam dorm and not in my arms. 

I am trying to remember what dorm he’s in…  
Oh yes. McBain. It seems a lifetime ago that I got a message from him on my answering machine, asking if he could use the spare room. I remember when we spoke and he said something about seeing a light on the second floor and how creepy it was.   
McBain is 4 stories tall and the first floor is a dining hall and meeting rooms. That means his room is either on the third or fourth floor. 

Maybe I’ll just go for a walk. I’m so agitated – it might take the edge off. I pull a knit cap low over my eyes I throw on my hoodie, put on my down vest and head out. 

Campus is rocking. Kids are everywhere, hanging out, smoking, impromptu parties springing up in various lounges, students literally hanging out of the windows. I scan the crowd looking for Elio but I don’t see him, at the same time trying not to make eye contact with any of the students, lest I be called out. People are walking in and out of the dorm, security cards be damned. I slip in behind a group of girls. I skip the elevator and head up to the fourth floor via the staircase. I pass people sitting on the steps getting high, making out, and catching up after holiday break. 

What the fuck am I doing? How am I going to find Elio’s room? I walk around the floor. Some of the doors are open and I figure out that the singles are in the corners. Well that narrows it down a bit. As I walk down one of the corridors on the 4th floor I spot the RA (Resident Assistant) who also happens to be one of my previous T.A.’s. Shit. I quickly turn and find the nearest staircase. As I hightail it down to the third floor it hits me how desperate I am to see Elio.

Propriety be damned! I scan the rooms, canvassing the four long halls. I’m pretty sure I can rule out the room with the Hello Kitty memo board on it. As I approach my starting point and start to lose hope, I see it; a corner room with an Italian Flag sticker half torn off on the door. It’s got to be Elio’s. My heart speeds up, adrenaline courses through my veins. I rap my knuckle on the door. “Elio, are you there? Elio?” I don’t hear anything. I rap again. I hear something, a faint “go away.” I knock a third time, a bit harder. I see the door handle move and I hear him say “What the fuck didn’t I…” he opens the door and sees me. 

“Oliver! Oh my God!” He pulls me into his room and closes the door quickly. “What’s going on? Why are you here? Is everything ok?” 

It’s then that I notice the tear streaked face, the red nose, his wet eyes. 

“Well I was cleaning and I found this,” I pull the tube sock out of my pocket, "and I thought you might need it. And well, while you might need the sock, I figured out what I needed, was you.” I put my hands on his cheeks, run my thumbs under his wet eyes and kiss him gently on the mouth. He returns the kiss and pulls me into his arms.


	23. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Options

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little teaser chapter marks the end of the 2nd part of the story. 
> 
> The first part was the Student Teacher Classroom Dynamic  
> The second part was the Holiday Break  
> The third part will be Real life as a couple and epilogue.
> 
> The quote at the end of the chapter is from the book- the midnight scene. It felt right.

 

Oliver

****************************************************************************************

We sit on Elio’s thin dorm bed, holding each other kissing, like it’s been an eternity not just 8 hours since we’ve seen each other.

“I’m so sorry Elio, you’ve been crying, I feel so badly baby.”   I reach over and turn the bedside lamp on. He’s embarrassed.

“Listen, we should have talked about how we were feeling. It’s not my favorite thing, talking about feelings, I admit.” I hold him and he buries his face in my chest.

 

Elio

******************************************************************************************

He’s here, and by that mere fact no words are needed. I melt into him. Trying to breathe him in and steady myself. I was like a ship lost at sea when I got back to campus; my mooring shattered, no safe harbor, my sense of well being at the mercy of random waves of longing and sadness. He’s talking to me and I am missing half of what he’s saying. I’m so in my head.

“Oliver. Start over. I didn’t hear you, I’m sorry, I’m just overwhelmed.” 

“Elio I was just saying that I was sorry you were in so much pain. We have to talk to each other. I know I’m guilty of not talking about how I feel. You’re usually so good about letting me know what’s going on with you. Why did you hold back this morning and at lunch?” 

Oliver is stroking my hair back off my face, looking intently in my eyes with such love and compassion I can hardly stand it.

“I dunno, it’s just, I guess I didn’t want to assume you wanted me to stay or be this needy person. That’s not really who I am, but when it comes to you, I just want more.”

He swallows, blows out a small breath and says “I have to be truthful, the selfish part of me wants you to move in and just have things be like they were this last week. The more adult realistic part of me knows you are here to get an education and have one of the best academic experiences available. The last thing I want to do is get in the way of that."

“Why can’t I do both? Listen Oliver, I have been in the dorm for a year and a half. Dorm life is awful, I spend most of my free time at the library anyway. If you don’t want me to move in, I understand, but can we talk about us?

Oliver nods at me, his expression is serious, his eyes searching my face.

“What do you want Oliver, what do you want to do?”

“I want to make this work Elio, but I just don’t know what that looks like. Do you move in, and we just proceed? Or do I give you your keys back, and we spend as much time together as we can, and see how it goes? Do I date you? Hoping you’re free on any given Saturday night, so we can have dinner and maybe an occasional sleep over? I just don’t know what to do…”

He brushes his hands through his hair and shrugs.

“Oliver, I asked you what you wanted, and you just laid out three possible scenarios, but you didn’t say what you wanted.”

He stands up, walks to the window, and peers out. He turns around to face me.

“Truth Elio?”

I nod vigorously.

“I want you any way you’ll have me. If you want to move in, yes by all means let’s pack you up tonight. If you want to play it by ear with your own set of keys so be it. I brought the keys. The third option is not my favorite, but I’ll take it if it’s all I can have.”

 

God. This is what I have been waiting to hear since the first night we were together, that he wants me as much as I want him.

 

“Yes Oliver! Yes to all three. I want to live with you, I want the keys and I want you on every foreseeable Saturday night.”

He crosses the room with intent, “Greedy boy. You want it all huh?” He frames my face with his hands and kisses me reverently, soft repeated kisses until I feel like I am melting.

We grab my duffle bag and backpack. I never unpacked. I’ll come back after classes tomorrow and start to pack up my dorm room. I can’t get out of there fast enough and back to Oliver’s (our!) apartment.

 

‘I had, as I never before in my life, the distinct feeling of arriving somewhere very dear, of wanting this forever.’

                                                               -André Aciman


	24. Professor Mode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wager  
> Some smut  
> A call

Oliver*********************************************************

Monday. First day back. Today has seemed endlessly long, filled with admin duties, paperwork, departmental meetings, all the things I truly hate about being a professor. An undercurrent of restlessness and anxiety has colored all of my interactions this afternoon. I glance up at the clock in my office and it’s only 4pm. We have an informal wine and cheese thing in the department lobby starting right now. It’s a must attend for political reasons. It wouldn’t look good if I skip it to go home and fuck my undergraduate lover. I chuckle at my own gallows sense of humor, which reminds me; at some point, I need to speak to my department chair to cover my ass in case any negative speculation gets back to him. 

I am a good teacher but lousy at the Machiavellian posturing that goes on behind the scenes in academia. I immediately think of “Sayre’s Law” named after a Columbia Professor who said “The politics of the university are so intense because the stakes are so low.” 

My associate in the department Professor Ross pops her head in my office and asks if I am going down to the reception. We’re all on time for these things because the wine and decent snacks go quickly, I want to be seen and make a hasty exit. Nodding, I grab my briefcase and lock my office door behind me. 

“How was your break Oliver?”   
“OK, Susan. Nothing out of the ordinary, You?”   
(I tend to keep my private life private.)

“Family in Michigan. Cold, but ok.” 

“I wonder how long it will take till they run out of shrimp?” She asks with a smirk.

“I give it to 4:18” I answer. 

“4:18? C’mon give it at least til 4:25”

“Lets Wager. 5 bucks. I bet they’re all gone by 4:18. Synchronize your watch with mine.”

She cracks up, but does it anyway, anything to make this drudgery more fun. It’s only a few minutes after the hour and we are the last faculty to arrive. The shrimp bowl is half empty. Luckily there’s still red wine left; I pour Susan a glass and take one for myself. 

I speak to a few of my colleagues, asking about their breaks, talking about course loads and class enrollments. The chair of the department, Dean Anderson, welcomes us all back and wishes us a happy new year. I make sure he’s seen me, I don’t intend on sticking around to shoot the shit with him. My agitation hasn’t dissipated; even the wine doesn’t take the edge off. I grab my coat from the back of the couch, and I’m momentarily interrupted by Susan slipping five dollars into my hand. “Shrimp gone by 4:15, a new Classics Department record!” She says in a faux announcer voice. 

“Coffee is on me tomorrow Professor” I say over my shoulder, making my way across the reception area. The atmosphere in here is stuffy, a metaphor perhaps for the department. My situation when revealed will certainly shake them up a bit, hopefully not enough for me to lose my job.   
The airless atmosphere propels me out the front door where I am greeted by a wall of frigid wind. 

Awareness hits me as I am heading home. This anxiety, tension or whatever you want to call it – it’s the separation from Elio for the first time since his ski trip. Aside from the 8 hours we were apart yesterday, we have spent the last three weeks together without a break. I miss him, my body misses him, he is my drug and I am experiencing withdrawal. This dependence scares me and at the same time provokes something deeply rapacious and dissolute.   
A wave of lust pushes me home, I am practically running –driven by my keen need to see Elio, hold him, kiss him, touch him.   
I make it to the apartment in record time, open the door, and thank god he is here. 

“Elio.” I lean back against the closed door panting, trying to catch my breath. “Come here, baby.” He saunters into the living room, unaware of my current state. I eye him hungrily. He takes one look at me and senses what’s going on. He rushes at me, pressing into my chest. He manages to take my coat off while simultaneously kissing me. His insistence mirrors my own longing, tongue thrusting eagerly in my mouth wrestling mine for dominance. Before I can lose myself in his searing kiss, he sinks to his knees cushioned on my fallen down jacket. Tugging down my pants, he palms me through my boxers, his warm breath felt through thin cotton, making me absolutely insane. 

“Oh god Elio Jesus.” 

I push my head back against the solid wood of the door, I am rock hard.

“Your mouth Elio, I need your damn mouth on me now.” He obeys me, underwear pushed to the floor, his beautiful full lips around me, licking, kissing, and greedily sucking my cock. I look down at him and almost come on the spot, he is gazing up at me, his mouth full, his green eyes blackened with arousal, swallowing all that he possibly can. I card my hands through his curls, press his head to my groin, thrusting into his hungry maw. It’s never been like this between us; ferociously demanding that he service me, fucking his mouth…oh but god it’s so good. His enthusiasm coupled with his skilled tongue bring me quickly to the edge, I squeeze his shoulder to warn him of my impending climax but he continues to devour me, his seemingly insatiable desire spurred on by my vocal encouragement. “Oh god Yes, fuck Elio fuuuck.” 

He is focused purely on my pleasure, drawing out my orgasm, taking all I give him until it is a bit too much, I hiss with sensitivity, and he gently releases me. He stays on his haunches, licking his lips, looking up, the perfect vision of tender acquiescence. I pat his head, prolonging this dynamic that has unexpectedly arisen between us. His breath stutters. Obviously this is doing something for him too. He leans against my legs, and I run my fingers through his hair, around his ears.   
“You’re such a good boy Elio, I’m so pleased.”  
“Anything Oliver, anything for you.”

Elio**************************************************************************************************

Oh! I didn’t know if I would like this but I do. I really do. I took one look at Oliver when he came in, and I just knew he needed something. Evidently I guessed correctly and it has morphed into one of my fantasies. Lucky me. 

I am still at his feet when he asks me to get him a glass of wine. I happily oblige. I think the game (Is that what this is?) is over when he sits on the couch and encourages me to sit next to him. I do. He pulls me on to his lap and kisses me and calls me his beautiful boy. I don’t know how this is going to play out so I just stay quiet.   
“That was amazing Elio. Was that something you enjoyed? Being on your knees for me?”  
I nod and say: “I did. It’s something I’ve thought about…I mean not like all the time or anything but...you know it’s a bit tricky between us.”

“Why Elio? I have my own ideas, but what do you think?”

I take a minute to think about how to phrase this. 

“Well there is an inherent inequity in our relationship, and to exploit it sexually is enticing and a bit perilous.”

He thinks about what I’ve said. He gets it, I don’t need to lay out the obvious fact that he holds most of the cards here. 

“There are two factors you haven’t figured into your ‘inherent inequity’ equation Elio. One is that you are literally holding my heart in your hands, and the other is your emotional intelligence and maturity. When you consider those, it equals things out a bit more.” 

Oh he’s getting much better at this talking about feelings thing. He conceals the fact that I am holding his heart in my hands into his clinical intellectual assessment. 

It makes me feel warm inside, and oddly empowered.   
I smile at him, and then proceed to kiss him soundly.

I have only one class in the morning on Tuesday so I am going to get the rest of my stuff out of my dorm room. It’s mostly just books clothes and tapes. David said he would help. 

I also need to let my parents know what’s going on. We’ve been in contact and they are aware of my relationship with Oliver. They knew about David too so no huge revelations, but they may raise some objections about us moving into together. The thing is, they trust my judgment and have always allowed me to make my own mistakes as it were. Not that I think Oliver and I cohabiting is a mistake, but I could see how they might think it a bit hasty.   
It may put them at ease when I tell them Oliver and I will be back over Spring break coinciding with our annual Passover Seder this year. 

Even before Oliver and I became a ‘thing,’ my parents knew that I held him in high esteem as a teacher. I have a feeling my dad and Oliver will really hit it off. My mother is a sucker for true love of any kind, so I think I am pretty set there. 

The phone in the apartment rings and Oliver answers. 

“Oh hi mother. Yes. Yes. Really? Seriously? Um. No that’s amazing. No, I think it’s a good thing. Yes. I guess so. Um. Yes it’s the least I can do. Will you let me know when? Oh, ok. Then I will wait to hear from you about that.   
Oh, Mother Elio and I are going to go Italy for Spring Break. Yes, so that means I won’t be around for Passover. Yes. I ‘m sorry, we will celebrate with his family. Thank you for understanding. OK let me know how it goes this week. OK. Thanks for calling. Bye.”

I have a few observations about Oliver’s side of the conversation with his mother but I keep quiet. I’ve learned my lesson. 

Oliver is shaking his head as he hangs up the receiver. 

“Elio, if you weren’t here to witness what I am about to tell you, I would eventually come to believe that it had never taken place. My mother just informed me that she and my Father have seen a therapist, and that they wish to learn how to communicate better with each other and with me. She assured me that their marriage is not in danger but she’s come to realize that they (and this is a quote) ‘need work in certain areas.’ She then asked if sometime down the road I would be willing to do a family session. I am in shock. I think it all stems from our dinner at Le Monde last week.” 

I nod my head. I am frankly surprised as well. This is good for Oliver too. If he can see his parents as flawed humans who maybe didn’t get all the pages to the figurative 'parent manual' he can see himself as less of a victim of an unloving upbringing and get on with allowing himself to love and be loved. 

“Wow. That’s amazing Oliver. I really admire their willingness to change at their age. I mean they could have just gone on they way they have for 30 years. It’s pretty admirable.”

“Well I am sure you are familiar with Heraclitus’ most famous quote –‘No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river, and he’s not the same man.’ I think that speaks to the impermanence of identity and how we can shift our persona and the way we see the world at any given time.”

Leave it to Oliver to shift into Professor mode when his reality wobbles a bit. 

“I’ll drink to that Oliver!” I hold up his wine glass and take a sip. “It’s hot when you're Professor Katz home.”   
He lunges at me, intent on a tickle attack. “I’ll show you hot Elio.” He scoops me up and carries me into the bedroom to have his way with me. (I hope.)


	25. Letter of the Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shattered Zen  
> Splitting Hairs  
> Determined Resolve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Oliver's point of view only.   
> C'mon you knew this would happen.

Oliver************************************************

The shrill ring of the phone disrupts what has become Elio/Oliver zen coffee time; both of us, staring into nothingness with large mugs of strong coffee clutched in our hands. I clear my throat and have the fleeting thought that nothing ever good happens when the phone rings before 9am.   
“Hello?”  
“Hello Professor Katz? This is Emily in Dean Anderson’s office. He would like to know if you’re available to come into his office this morning first thing, say 9:30?”   
Zen coffee mood shattered, I reply, “yes, of course, I’ll be there.”  
I hang up and the look on my face must be enough to alarm Elio.   
“Oliver! What’s going on? You look like you just saw a ghost.”  
I am tempted to keep this to myself and just reassure Elio that everything is fine, but in keeping with my resolve to ‘do this one differently’ I choose full disclosure.   
“Uh, that was the Dean’s office. He wants to see me as soon as possible.”  
Poor Elio’s complexion goes from alabaster to ashen instantaneously.   
“Oh God.”   
“Do me a favor Elio, grab all of your graded papers from my class and I will pull your exams, the first thing they will want to know is if I have given you preferential treatment.”  
“But I aced every exam and paper- oh that doesn’t look good.”  
I have to laugh out loud at Elio’s reaction.   
“Elio! You aced every one because you’re so fucking brilliant. If the Dean reads your stuff he’ll see what a rare intellect you have. He very well could be most angry about the fact you aren’t pursuing at least a Masters, if not a Phd in our department. 

Elio starts to pace the length of the small living room. 

“I think I know how word of our relationship got back to the dean so quickly,” Elio says, pursing his lips in frustration. I arch my eyebrows waiting for this little information bomb.   
“When I was carrying the last of my stuff out of the dorm on Tuesday, the RA asked me what was going on. I told her I was moving in with my boyfriend.”   
“Did you mention my name by any chance?”  
“Just your first name.”  
I put my head in my hands and rub my temples. She must have seen me that night I went looking for Elio’s room and put two and two together. Boy, she wasted no time reporting me to the Dean.   
“She is a former TA of mine, I saw her Sunday night when I came looking for you. I think you’re correct, she’s the one who narc’d on us.   
I better go shower and get over there. I’ll meet you back here after your last class and let you know what’s going on. Please try not to worry. You and I were aware of the rules, and were careful not to break them.” 

I cross the room to embrace and reassure him that it will be all right.   
“You are so worth it Elio, we’ll get through this. Try not to be anxious.”  
He hugs me back tightly and I can feel him trembling.   
_________

Emily ushers me into Dean Anderson’s office, leaves and closes the door behind her. I’m slightly uneasy, but accustomed to putting on a good front.   
“Thank you for coming in Oliver. Sorry to drag you in here so early but I was just informed of some disturbing news, It has been brought to my attention that you are currently romantically involved with one of your students. Is that true?” 

“With all due respect, Sir, I am romantically involved with a former student - they are not currently enrolled in any courses in our department.”

“I have no moral authority Professor Katz, over who you chose to love or who you chose to be in a consensual sexual relationship with, I do however hold in my hand a signed University Code of Conduct which stipulates that you are forbidden from entering into a relationship with one of your students. The relationship between faculty and student is central to our mission here at Columbia. No personal ties should be allowed to interfere with the integrity of the faculty-student relationship. I am required by the college to bring this up with the disciplinary committee. 

“Sir, we were not involved until the student was no longer in my class. I believe that the Code of Conduct refers to direct academic responsibility.“ 

Dean Anderson grimaces. “You’re splitting hairs Professor. I am going to request a hearing at the end of this week. Are you able to obtain copies of the student’s papers and tests?”  
I nod my head, still reeling from the shock of my supervisor’s unwillingness to listen to reason.   
“Please give the papers and tests to Emily and she will make copies. I will look them over and make recommendations to the committee as to the fairness of the grading and whether or not preferential treatment was given. The committee may also want to interview the student in question. Oliver, you’re a great teacher and a brilliant scholar but you made a questionable decision when you became involved with one of your students. Whether or not your actions are punishable by dismissal will be up to the committee. I for one, certainly hope not.”

He stands up and noticeably doesn’t shake my hand. My stomach plummets.   
I make my way out of the office – stop at Emily’s desk, and hand her a manila folder with Elio’s papers and graded tests. This day has gone from bad to horrendous. 

Luckily, I don’t have to give any lectures today. I know Elio has 2 classes and I don’t want him missing them on account of this. I will just kill some time until I can see him at 4.

Once again I seek refuge in Morningside Park. On a cold late January morning not a lot of people are out. I focus on getting down the stairs without slipping, grasping the metal handrail tightly until I am safely in the park where the paths have been cleared and salted. As I walk, I allow myself to think about the worst possible outcome. I guess that would be immediate dismissal and a letter of censure from the University’s board of directors. What are the odds of that happening? I don’t know now, I was shocked by the Dean’s hard assed stance, maybe I should prepare for the worst. What if they promise to let me keep my job if I end my relationship with Elio? I feel sick when I think of that. They wouldn’t do that would they? Would I? Could I end it to keep my job? Being fired from an Ivy League University could ruin my academic career. I see all of my poor choices in life leading up to this particular moment: me, alone, in some god forsaken little town, the lone professor teaching Greek Mythology in a rural community college. 

I walk for a long time, until I can’t feel my hands, and a cold dread has seeped deep inside of me. 

Climbing my way out of the park I head to the Hungarian Pastry Shop where I took Elio 6 weeks ago. The blanket of warm air and the rich sugary smells surround me as I open the door. I order some coffee and a croissant and sit down at the same table Elio and I shared. 

As I wait for the food, it hits me. We did nothing wrong. I distinctly remember sitting here in this exact spot and telling Elio I could offer him nothing more than friendship. I was absolutely aware of my responsibility as his professor and distinctly put aside all personal feelings. Fuck splitting hairs, why are rules in place if they are not meant to be taken literally- the letter of the law and all that! Justified indignation courses through me and I realize that I have been looking at the situation as already defeated. No goddamn way. Both my job and my love are worth defending. I down my coffee, eat my pastry, and bolt home. 

 

Once inside I toss my jacket on the couch go into my office and call my father.   
His surprised assistant puts the call through right away.   
“Hi Father, Is this a good time to talk? I need some help.”  
“Of course Oliver, my boy what’s the matter? What can I do?”  
“Well, I have a situation at school that I need some legal counsel for. It’s a labor employment issue. Who would you recommend I speak with?   
“Oliver is this just a contract negotiation or something more serious?”  
“Much more serious Dad, I could lose my job.”   
“Jesus Oliver, what happened?”  
“How much do you want to know? It’s about Elio and our friendship outside of school”  
“I want to know what you want to tell me. Don’t worry son, I can handle it, I’m much more open minded than you have ever given me credit for.”

“Oh.” I am at a loss for words. I take a deep breath and continue.  
“Well, Elio was one of my students last semester and absolutely nothing inappropriate took place during the entire academic period. We became close after the semester was over. Someone reported our relationship to the Dean and there is to be a disciplinary hearing at the end of the week.“   
There is a silence that you could drive a truck through. 

“Hmm. So do you actually know Elio’s father or was that just something that you told me at Hanukah?” 

Damn, my father doesn’t forget anything. 

“I do know Elio’s father, he is a respected scholar in my field, I have been introduced to him, but we are not close or anything.”

“OK. Just curious. Listen, Oliver, let me call Grayson Tighe, he could defend you in his sleep.”   
“Father, he has argued cases in front of the Supreme Court, don’t you think that’s overkill?”  
“Ollie – if you knew the favors I did for him during undergrad at Harvard, even you’d blush. Put it this way, if he were to take your case, it doesn’t even make a dent in what he knows he owes me. I’m calling him right now. He’ll know the best course of action. I’m glad you called me son. I’ll call you back.” He hangs up and I am a bit stunned for a few reasons. 

First off, Grayson fucking Tighe…It’s like bringing F. Lee Bailey to small claims court. Secondly, my father open minded…when it comes to me? I don’t think so. I’ve got to meet this shrink they’ve been seeing. She must be a hypnotist as well. Unless I have read my father incorrectly for close to 25 years something has drastically changed. 

The phone rings. I pick it up, and a strident female voice greets me with the following:

“Oliver, this is Kay Cochran. I am Mr. Tighe’s administrative assistant. I am going to ask you a series of questions and I need quick concise answers. We have no time for small talk if your hearing is at the end of the week, that’s two days away.   
“OK, I’m ready.”  
“Do you have a copy of the Columbia University’s Employee Rules and Regulations?”  
“Yes, I believe it is called the Code of Conduct.”  
“Do you have it?”  
“Yes.”  
“Do you know the name of the person who reported you to the Administration?”  
“Yes. I believe so.”  
“Name please”  
“Lindsay Miller.”  
“Student?”  
“Yes. Resident Assistant McBain 4th floor”  
I am now answering Ms. Cochran in short staccato sentences – parroting her question delivery.   
“How long have you been employed by Columbia?”  
“A total of 4 years including teaching assistant and researcher.”  
“Name of student who you are involved with?”  
“Elio Perelman”  
“Spell it”  
I do.   
“Age?”  
“20”  
And so it goes for another 15 minutes, Kay firing off questions and me answering with the barest of details.   
“Are you available for a phone conversation with Mr. Grayson after 6pm this evening?”  
“I am.”  
“Ok we will be in touch.” And, the conversation has ended.


	26. A three pronged attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A busy signal  
> A knife to a gunfight  
> Adjournment

Elio******************************************

Today has been the worst. I sat in the back of my History of Western Architecture class and obsessed about what might have gone wrong when Oliver had his meeting with the dean. By the time the class was over I had worked myself into a frenzy. What if he is fired, and it is my fault? I pushed Oliver so hard for this, it’s all on me at this point. I think maybe I should make and appointment with the Dean and take full responsibility. I have to _do something,_ I feel so helpless.

I stop by the bookstore to pick up a text that I need for my next class and see the R.A. Lindsay at the checkout. I am so angry at her that it takes all of my restraint not to give her the finger and tell her to go fuck herself. I am a mess. I go the payphone in the hall outside the bookstore and ring Oliver’s phone. It’s busy. I slam down the receiver and rest my head against the wall in frustration. I have another class at 2pm, not enough time to run home and speak with him.

I would rather get expelled from Columbia than have the school take any action against Oliver. I wouldn’t blame him if he broke up with me.

Normally I would go get some lunch now but I am too upset to eat.

 

Oliver***********************************

 

He calls early. I hope that’s not a bad sign.

Grayson Tighe’s voice is so mesmerizing that I am riding the rich waves of his baritone as opposed to actually listening to what he is saying.

I pick up the last few words. “….they won’t know what hit them.”

“I do have one concern sir, if this goes in my favor, I still have to work with this Dean and possibly some of the members of the disciplinary committee, I’d like to avoid alienating them if that is at all possible.”

“Oliver, let me remind you that the Dean set up a disciplinary hearing to cover his own ass as soon as he heard about this. He did not give you the benefit of doubt, and that is something you should not forget. But that being said, I will bear in mind that pending our desirous outcome, they will never feel the iron fist inside the velvet glove.”

Damn this guy is good. No wonder he has a superstar reputation. 

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet with you until the hearing, and I’m sorry I won’t get to speak with Elio before Friday, but try not to let this distract you from your teaching duties this week. I hope when you look back on this – that’s all it will be to you, one large distraction.“

“Thank you so much for your time Sir, I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am.”

“You can repay me by wiping some of the blackmail material from your father’s memory- now that would really be of value to me.” His big booming laugh echos through the phone.   We say goodbye and I move to my desk to write up a timeline that he asked for. I am supposed to relay it to the charming Ms. Cochran this evening.

 

Completing the assignment, I hear the key in the door and Elio is home. His shoulders hunched - he looks as though he is carrying the weight of the world.He drops his knapsack on the floor and takes off his coat.

“Hey babe. Come talk to me.” I stand up and open my arms wide for a hug. He comes close but just stands there, head on my shoulder, a shadow of his normally exuberant self. I take up the slack and embrace him soundly, just holding him, eventually he returns the hug and I feel him start to cry. We stand there for a long time. I am rubbing his back, softly telling him it will be alright. He is sobbing, trying to keep it together and failing until he just gives into his sadness and fear. My  normal reaction would have been to fix this, immediately try and make him feel better, but this afternoon, I just let him feel it, anchoring him with support.

 

Eventually he stops, pulling back a bit, he asks

“What happened in the Dean’s office this morning, what did he say?”

 

I pull him over to the couch and sit facing him.

“The Dean scheduled a hearing with the University’s disciplinary committee. It’s this Friday. They take things like this pretty seriously. He didn’t really want to discuss it with me. He had already set up the hearing before even giving me the chance to explain.“

“That is so fucking unfair. What’s gonna happen? Are you going to lose your job? Jesus Oliver. I’m so scared. Do you hate me?”

“First off Elio, we are in this together. I don’t hate you baby, quite the opposite. Secondly, yes the possibility exists that I might lose my job, but we can’t go there right now. We have stuff to do to prepare for the hearing. After the meeting with the Dean I called my father to ask his advice. He in turn called his old college roommate who is a big time litigator. He’s kind of a famous guy here in the States, I don’t think you would have ever heard of him; Grayson Tighe. Anyway he is going to represent us in front of the disciplinary committee. It’s sort of like bringing a gun to a knife fight, but I’ve made the decision that we’re not going to take this lying down.

Elio is quiet during my explanation, listening intently to the outline of my plan.

“The committee may request to speak to you either privately or during the hearing, are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, I mean, yes whatever, actually I welcome the chance to speak to them, I have a lot to say actually.”

I smile to myself and stroke his silky curls off his forehead. “Yeah, Elio. What would you say?”

“That we didn’t do anything wrong, that I pursued you, that you outright refused anything more than a friendship, we waited, and that sometimes the universe doesn’t care, it happens anyway, you meet your person despite all the obstacles. That’s what I would say.”

“Am I your person Elio?”

Finally, he smiles. “Yes you most certainly are.”

I kiss him gently on the mouth. “You’re mine too.”

 

Elio

******************************************************************

Hearing Friday 10 am Leith Hall

 

9:45 Leith Hall Steps

 

Oliver and I are both in suits and ties. I know this is inappropriate but he’s so fucking gorgeous. I can’t stop looking at him. We have agreed to meet Mr. Tighe in front of the administration building and walk in together. I have already decided that if this all goes south, I’m leaving school and following Oliver wherever he ends up. That internal determination has had a calming affect on me. I feel quasi ready to face the committee.

Grayson Tighe is hard to miss. Standing as tall as Oliver, with deeply tanned skin and black hair, two thatches of silver frame his face over his temples. He manages to be distinguished and intimidating. He reaches out to shake my hand, ice blue eyes both assessing and reassuring me simultaneously. His deep sonorous voice sounds like liquid velvet.

“Oliver my boy, I haven’t seen you since your Choate graduation, I wish it were under different circumstances, but it’s good to see you!” He embraces Oliver and puts his arm around his shoulders.

“Boys lets see if we can find a room just to talk for a minute.”

We enter the administration building and find an empty room to the right of the lobby. He wastes no time and launches in:

“Listen, one of the interns in my law office did some informal interviews with some of the students on the 4th floor of McBain yesterday. This RA has been obsessed with you, Oliver, for the last year and a half. Her motivation in speaking with the dean is at best questionable. May I have your permission to bring this up?” 

“If you feel it helps our case, by all means, and frankly sir, consider that a blanket permission for anything you deem pertinent.”

“Very good Oliver. Elio, I am hoping that after my remarks the need to interview you will not be necessary, but do you have any questions in case they chose to?”

I answer truthfully; “no, not really. The only thing I feel strongly about is that the committee understands that Oliver resisted _my_ advances. He was infinitely clear that any sort of relationship between us was not permissible. This was not some classic professor over student power play move.”

“Ah, ok. Thank you for that Elio.  Gentlemen, my main assertion is that on some level Columbia University is to blame for having an unclear code in place. The committee must be made aware that any room for interpretation in the code is going to come back and bite them in the ass repeatedly. In this way, blame is shuffled off to the institution at large and no individual or specific department has to take the fall. It’s all about politics; the dean being the most political player in this drama.   You can tell how well our case is being received by his tone when he gives his report. Mark my words.

Without sounding trite, I really feel we have a solid case here, and I promise to do my best to get you absolved of any and all wrong doing.“

We go back out into the hall and follow the men and women into the assembly room reserved for the hearing. It’s a medium sized room with oak paneling and wooden trusses; think great hall in Tudor Manor house.  There is an oak table set up with seating for three at the head of the room. Oliver, Mr. Teague and I sit slightly off to the left side at our own table. The dean and 2 other staff people sit on the right. It is a closed door hearing, not open to the general campus population thankfully.  I can’t help but think that it feels like a trial set up. When the three of us sit down the murmurs start. The amount of staring and double takes directed at Grayson Tighe is almost comical. I guess having a legal celebrity at a disciplinary hearing is an unexpected event. The chairman of the committee stands up and the room is silent.

“Thank you for coming, our purpose today is to hear the facts surrounding an allegation of improper conduct on the part of Professor Oliver Katz.

Professor Katz has been accused of partaking in a romantic relationship with one of his undergraduate students.   I have been told that the venerable Grayson Tighe will be addressing the committee and both Professor Katz and Elio Perlman will be available for questions. Is that agreeable to all parties?

All 9 of us shake our heads affirmatively.

Thank you. Mr. Tighe you may proceed.

Grayson Tighe walks regally to the center of the room facing the committee.

His resonant voice crystal clear in the perfect acoustics of the small assembly hall.

 “It is an honor to be here representing Oliver Katz today. My favorite Uncle Erasmus Tighe, In fact, there is a student center here that shares his name, graduated Columbia class of ’23. You have a fine institution with an equally sterling reputation. I believe that our work here today will further solidify this prestigious university’s standing and commitment to its students and faculty.” 

He takes a dramatic pause. He is weaving a magic spell, as I watch 6 individuals fall prey to his oratorical skills.

“Let me start by reading directly from Columbia Universities’ Code of Conduct.

‘Teaching Staff are forbidden from entering into a romantic or sexual relationship with any student for whom a faculty member has, or should reasonably expect to have in the future, academic responsibility instructional, evaluative, or supervisory.’

I am stating this here and now. We are not putting Elio Perlman and Oliver Katz on trial. This hearing is about Columbia University’s policy.

If, this relationship is a violation, in the eyes of the administration, then your policy needs to be rewritten and clarified. A censure is not due the two brilliant minds that interpreted the rules as they stand and then acted on them. And may I add this now, just to call out the elephant in the room, if this hearing is in any way about the fact that this is a same sex relationship please let me know now. That, my esteemed friends, is a battle yet to be fought, and I for one would love to be at the forefront of that fight.

He looks around the room, sizing up the reactions of the committee, seeing who shifts uncomfortably in their seat, whose eyes are darting around the room, who’s reaction belies their impartiality.

He continues, picking apart the paragraph that details faculty student relationships, pointing out that Oliver’s background includes extensive discussions of Socrates, Aristotle and Plato and how adept he is at the deep interpretation of esoteric text. And, Grayson concurs that after reading the aforementioned paragraph came to the same conclusion; that once our classroom experience was completed and I had decided to not continue taking classes in the department we were no longer in danger of violating the University’s policy, and thus a romantic relationship could commence.

He somewhat embarrassingly details my pursuit of Oliver, and his steadfast refusal to endanger our teacher student relationship.

He then reveals that Oliver’s former teaching assistant had unreciprocated amorous feelings toward Oliver, which motivated her informing the dean’s office.

His strategy is brilliant; attacking the charges on three fronts; the code itself, defending the behavior of the participants, and invalidating the actual reporting of the incident. Basically creating a shaky foundation for any sort of disciplinary action.  

I am sure the committee has never seen anything like this. They are used to tearful students or nervous defensive faculty trying to justify or defend any perceived violation. I hope to hell it doesn’t go against us.

Grayson sums up his arguments and then offers to help re-write the code so that this doesn’t happen again and the University’s goals are met without, and I am paraphrasing here, wasting anyone’s time. He thanks the committee and crosses back to our table and sits down.

The chair then asks the dean to report on his findings.

“I can only speak about the academic aspect based on the review of Elio Perlman’s classwork. He is an exemplary student and his papers show an incisive intellect and a brilliant command of various interpretive frameworks. Professor Katz’s grading and commentary on his work is completely appropriate. I understand that Mr. Perlman has declared a major in the Architecture School, and that removes any potential conflict going forward.“ 

 

 All three members of the committee acknowledge the Dean’s report and the Chairman asks for a short adjournment to discuss the facts as presented. He informs us that we will be brought back in for the results of the hearing. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me on this! Your comments are so lovely. I've been blessed with an amazing group of readers and have gotten so much joy from writing this. I always try to respond and love hearing what you have to say. You can find me on tumblr as Delongpaw.


	27. The Ruling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Support  
> A ruling  
> Some Hugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter to tide you over. Your continued support of this story is making me so happy.   
> The end is in sight for these two love birds.   
> Thank you for your comments and kudos. It is an honor to be a part of this fandom.

Oliver**************************************  
I am feeling positive about things, a bit shaky to have your life laid out for review by your peers, but overall I am hopeful. I glance at Elio and he smiles back at me. We exit the hearing room, following Grayson’s confident stride. What I see when I enter the lobby both shocks and profoundly moves me; my father is standing there, with open arms, one arm for Elio, one for me. The lump in my throat threatens to morph into something much more embarrassing. He gathers us both into a collective hug, and I return the affection wholeheartedly. 

“Dad, wow I can’t believe you are here. I don’t know what to say.”   
My voice is cracking; I am overcome with appreciation and the novelty of his support. 

“Reed, thanks for coming. It really means everything to Oliver and me that you are here.”  
Leave it to Elio to say exactly the right thing.

“Boys, I know you were well taken care of in there,” he releases us and goes to shake hands with Grayson. They do the one armed man hug thing and grin at each other; a friendship born of shared experiences and untold secrets. 

Neither Elio nor I feel much like talking, we sit in uneasy silence, nervous about the decision of the committee. My father and Grayson catch up and I overhear something about an invitation to the Tighe compound in Bermuda. 

Without warning, the doors to the hearing room open and we are invited back in. My father indicates that he will wait outside. He squeezes my shoulders and says quietly, “ No matter what happens Oliver, it will be ok.” 

We all take our respective seats and the chairman of the commission rises.

“Ladies and gentlemen; Thank you for your time and attention to this matter at hand. It is the opinion of the disciplinary committee that the relationship between Professor Oliver Katz and the student Elio Perlman is in conflict with the tone and intent of the University’s code of conduct.” 

I feel myself deflate, blackness creeping around the edges of my consciousness, I resist the urge to grab the edge of the table. 

“However,” he continues, “we acknowledge that the wording of the code leaves room for interpretation, and we agree with Mr. Tighe that neither the professor nor the student should be punished for their reading and understanding of the rule as it pertained to their situation. We can see that no harm has been done to the student, and that fact alone, guides our decision.   
The committee will, on the other hand, take the opportunity offered, to work with Mr. Tighe in re-writing the regulations for presentation to the Board of Directors.   
Therefore, it is stated here, that no censure or punishment is due Professor Katz, and his University employment is to continue without blemish to his record.“

It takes me a minute for the ruling to reach my brain. I had, halfway through the chairman’s statement; retreated to such a dark place that part of me still remained there.   
I feel Elio grab my hand and squeeze, Grayson brings me around fully with a strong handshake and clap to my back.

As the door opens I see my father anxiously awaiting the results of the ruling. Elio flashes him a thumbs up and my father acknowledges him with a nod and an ear to ear smile. Another round of handshakes and embraces ensue. My father asks Elio and me to join him and Grayson for lunch but I decline, as I have a 2pm lecture, which is woefully underprepared. Elio too passes, as he has class in 45 minutes. 

I turn to Grayson and attempt to convey gratitude.   
“How can I possibly thank you? I feel like you saved my academic life just now. I am forever in your debt sir.” He graciously acknowledges my appreciation and nods to my father. “Thank your father Oliver, I would do anything for him, just like he would do anything for you.” My father hugs me yet again (this, by far, sets a record of consecutive hugs in a given day) and utters a hushed “I love you.“ 

“Thanks Dad. I love you too.”

I just stand there with Elio as we watch Grayson and my father leave, fully engaged in conversation, both of them having possibly saved my career and my love life in one fell swoop. 

“Can you grab a quick coffee before your class?” I ask Elio as we prepare to leave the administration building. 

“Do you think it’s cool, I mean on campus and everything?” He asks. 

“Fuck ‘em Elio. The way I see it, our relationship will be fodder for gossip soon enough, once word of the hearing gets out. I can’t be afraid all the time. I mean we won’t make out on the student center steps or anything, but if I’m afraid to have a coffee with my boyfriend at school, then nothings worth anything.” 

He smiles to himself, looking down at his shoes. 

“What?” I query.

“I just love that you call me your boyfriend. It just makes me deliriously happy.”

“C’mon you goose, I’m buying.”


	28. The aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complicit smugness  
> An Ally  
> A Deep Stick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can find it in your heart to forgive me for taking so long please do! Who knew that work stress causes the muse to hide?   
> So grateful you are here, reading and letting me know what you think.   
> Spring break and then an epilogue is what is in the future for these two. I know following a story that is a work in progress is always a risk for the reader. No one likes to be abandoned. Please know that I would never do that. This is me reassuring you.

Oliver

**************************************************************

As I predicted, word of the hearing spreads quickly, and frankly I am amazed at how brazen and intrusive one of my colleagues feels he has have a right to be. Not even four hours after the meeting had concluded and I had finished teaching my last class of the week, I was confronted by a professor I hardly know in the hallway 

“Hey!   You lucky son of a bitch, I hear you got caught fishing off the company pier.” He raises his eyebrows and smiles at me. “And all you got was a slap on the wrist. Nice move bringing in a high powered criminal defense lawyer. Who knew you pitched for the other team Katz.”

He says all this with a leering grin and I am momentarily stunned into silence. The sheer insensitivity and complicity he infers offends me to my core.

“Until you know of what you speak, Guthrie, I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself.” I turn away and retreat to my office, fuming.

I wonder if he should be admired because at least he said what he was thinking, clueless asshole. I’m sure there will be a lot of smiles masking judgment and even some not so subtle hatred in the weeks to come.    
Next to weigh in is Professor Ross, my co-conspirator in the shrimp wager.

She knocks lightly on my office door and then cracks it open. “Can I come in Oliver?” she asks somewhat timidly.

“Yes Susan, c’mon in and shut the door please.”

“So I heard some rumors flying around campus today, and until I hear it from you, I refuse to believe anything…”

“I’m just curious, what did you hear?

“Strangely enough, I first heard about it from my friend Leslie who is the office manager in the administration building. Evidently she noticed on the daily schedule that the main meeting room was booked for a disciplinary hearing and then she saw you and some other gentleman arrive early this morning. I guess she put two and two together. Her niece is Dean Anderson’s assistant so she got filled in on the rest by Emily.” Susan looks at me with sad eyes, waiting for me to respond.

“OK Susan. Stop looking at me with those unhappy Bambi eyes. Everything is fine.

I was found guilty of no wrongdoing. Secondly yes, I’m gay or bi or not straight, whatever box people need to put me in, and thirdly, if it was up to me no one, not even you my friend, would know anything about my personal life. But because of some unhappy previous teaching assistant, everyone will find out that I fell in love with a former student, and yes we are living together. That is everything. Are you still my buddy, or will we be reduced to polite nods in passing now?”

“Oliver!! I’m still your friend, Dammit, I’m more than your friend. I’m your ally. You honestly think I would judge you for who you love? C’mon you know me a bit. We’ve talked. There will be a few though, who will not be your friend in this, you know that right?”

I shake my head in concurrence. “Yeah. I know.”

“I have your back Oliver. Trust me. “

She gets up and motions for me to get up. She comes close and hugs me hard.

“You’ll get through this. It will be the main discussion topic for awhile and then a new scandal will come up and it will get pushed down the queue. Just keep being the amazing teacher you are. That’s what we’re here for, everything else is just bullshit”

She’s right. I have to keep that front and center, everything else is just bullshit.

 

Elio******************************************************************

I sort of glide through the rest of the day, I don’t think I realized how much this whole thing was weighing on me. I feel like I haven’t taken a deep breath since Monday. This week has been a blur of anxiety and unrelenting worry. The contrast with how I feel now almost makes me dizzy. My last class for the week is over and I hurry back to the apartment.

Oliver isn’t home yet so I get started on the massive amount of reading I have to do for my classes. One of the classes I am taking is Origins of Visual Culture and the reading load is spectacular but so is the subject. This week we talked about the beginning of the concept of modernity, and how it stems from recreating reality with the camera obscura and early photography.   I freaking love this stuff. Looking at the syllabus, I see we are going to touch on the morgues of 19th century Paris, and how World’s Fairs led the way to modern day amusement parks like Disneyland - spectacle and display in the 19th Century! Yes!!!

The key rattles in the door and Oliver is home. Although I want to run and greet him, I hold back, gauging his mood. He smiles at me, eyes crinkling at the corners, he moves toward me with intention, so that’s a start.

Coat off, he is on me in a New York minute, holding my face in his hands and kissing me as if his life depended on it. I melt into him, we fall on to the couch kissing. It’s a blur of warm mouths and sinfully delicious neck nuzzling, I can’t get enough, the horse has been let out of the gate, and my thirst for him is intense and overwhelming.   He stills for a moment and pulls away, studying me. A grin plays on his lips, as if to question my insistent fervor. I return the gaze.

“What?” I whisper

I’m a mess, hair askew, lips red, practically panting, hard as a rock.

“You’re just too amazing Elio. God I adore you.”

I blush despite everything, I hope I never become immune to Oliver’s compliments.

“Babe, before this continues, which I hope it does, I have to shower. I know I stink and today was so damn stressful, my whole body is sore, I am just one giant aching muscle.”

He leaves me on the couch totally wrecked. We barely touched this week, let alone made love. The hearing consumed all of our free time and quashed any lewd thoughts that usually occupy at least 60 percent of my brain. I want him now with a vehemence that scares me. I pick up my book and try to concentrate but fail miserably. I hear the shower stop, put my reading down and start to strip as I make my way to the bedroom.

I don’t think he expected me to be in the room when he enters. I am standing by the bed, nude, half hard, regarding him with unmitigated thirst.

“Oliver, don’t get dressed. Please. I want to give you a massage and make you feel good.”

He smiles. “Your wish….”

I tilt my chin up at him and motion for him to get on the bed.

“Oh…. we’re doing this now huh?” He says, side-eyeing me, but at the same time doing what I requested.

I crawl up the bed next to him. I use all of my will power to not touch him, getting as close as I can without actually making contact. I start by looking at his beautiful strong face, his kind eyes, his smiling mouth. My eyes wander down his torso, muscular, hairy, he occupies so much space on the bed, the sheer mass of him is my siren call. I resist. My gaze travels down his beautiful hips, the divots on the side of his abdomen taunt me. I can’t fight it. I bend over and let my tongue trace the inguinal crease, he moans and bucks up, I press my hand over his stomach to anchor him in place. The scent of soap and his distinct Oliver smell fill my senses.  His cock is fully erect, I lick the tip to tease him and I hear a soft “fuck.” His legs, they go on forever, gorgeous, long, now bent at the knees to help propel him closer to my mouth. I pull back.

“You’re killing me Elio,” he says.

“I don’t want to kill you Oliver, I want to fuck you, but first a massage.”

“Oh god. Yes. Please.“

I crawl up to the top of the bed again, and lick his lips with my tongue and his eyes darken with lust. The heat between us is palpable.

I know I saw some sort of massage oil in the drawer, I root around and find it, probably a remnant from the ballerina. It smells like sandalwood and bergamot, not unlike the summer fragrance near my parent’s place in Crema. I warm some in my hands and ask Oliver to turn over. I am determined to create new associations for him with this luscious scent. He is flat on his stomach, his erection pressed against the mattress. I am on my knees next to him.

I start at the juncture of his neck and shoulders, it’s crunched up and hard, I roll my knuckles across the area, taking my time and pushing in with increased pressure. The moans coming from Oliver are going straight to my groin. I work my way down, sweeping my fingers on either side of his spine, using the oil and my thumbs to loosen the tightness, pressing small deep circles up and down his back. I return to his neck, kneading away the tension, continuing down his arms and he grasps my palm as I try to pull some of the strain out through his fingers. I bring the back of his hand to my mouth and kiss it. He turns his head to look at me and gives me a lopsided smile, I melt just a bit.

I use a good amount of pressure pressing into his lower back, he grunts, “there, right there Elio, oh my god.” The heel of my hand pushes the tightness away from his spine. I add more oil and continue to knead his lower back. I massage his ass just because I can. Ung. It’s too perfect.

I grab a tissue and clean the oil off of my fingers. Even though Oliver and I are safe, and we’ve both been tested, we are still using condoms. I’ve done enough research to know that whatever is in the massage oil will destroy a condom. I swap out the oil for the lube we keep by the bed. I warn Oliver, in my way. “This will feel a little different baby” as I spill some between his faultless ass cheeks. I hear him suck in a breath. He’s already pretty relaxed, and now I focus my attention on getting him ready to accommodate me. He’s into it, pushing back on my fingers, muttering “more elio, I can take more.” When I’m as sure as I can be, I ask him to roll over and he groans, but complies. I nudge his thighs up and out, pull his torso toward me (with his help) and position myself under his legs at the end of the bed. My cock is so fucking hard, I put the condom on and liberally coat it with lube. The desire to be inside of him, to be as close as two humans can be is my only thought. This position allows me the leverage to fuck him properly. And I do, and it’s glorious. Oliver is reduced to prolonged utterances of “fuuuuuuuck” as I plow into him. He fists his cock and proceeds to bring himself off. As I climax, I practically fall on top of him.

When he can, Oliver speaks.

“Jesus, the look on your face Elio, when you came. God you’re a fucking work of art. And that position, what was that? You hit my prostate on every thrust. How the fuck do you know about that?”

I take my time answering, enjoying being on Oliver’s chest and listening to the melodic rumble of words as they are spoken. I am still floating from my orgasm. Speech comes slowly.

“It’s called ‘Deep Stick,’ I saw it in a book called the Joy of Gay Sex. David has a copy. It’s good right? I mean, was it okay for you…?”

“Oh Elio, you have no idea.”

He rolls on top of me and kisses me. I kind of do have an idea. We both fall asleep in a haze of post coital bliss.

Upon awakening, the sticky mix of massage oil, sweat, and come force us into the shower before we even attempt to feed ourselves.

Over dinner at neighborhood Italian bistro, Oliver tells me about his encounter with Professor Guthrie.

“Elio, we can expect a lot of this in the next few weeks, I’m afraid, spring break can’t come soon enough. “

“You know Oliver, my fellow students are not as harsh as your teaching associates. When I was with David, a few people made snide comments but they were definitely in the minority. Things are slowly changing, being gay or bi is does not carry the stigma for my generation as it did for previous generations. I really think in a few years it will be totally different, at least in an academic environment, I can’t speak for the general population.”

“I hope more than anything you’re right Elio. For now though, we’ll get through this together and count the days until we are on a plane to Milan.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	29. Von Crema an

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a flight  
> a lunch  
> a smoke  
> a taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely in Oliver's point of view.

Chapter 29

Oliver***************************************

Elio didn’t warn me that he was a fearful flyer. He is holding my hand so hard that I have lost the feeling in my arm. His eyes are squeezed shut and his breathing is shallow and quick. What does he do when flies alone?

I speak in a low voice very close to his ear. “It’s going to be fine, Elio, we are safe. Take a long slow breath in,” I breathe with him, trying to sync our inhalations. “Now let it out slowly through your mouth. Good boy. You’re going to be okay, take another breath.” As the plane clears the clouds and starts to even out, he relaxes the death grip on my hand. The perspiration is trickling down his neck, and all the color has drained from his face. My poor baby is absolutely terrified. I hope it’s a smooth flight, I can’t imagine how he might react to turbulence.

“I’m ok really Oliver. I’ll be fine, I just really hate takeoff, oh and turbulence too, I _really_ hate any sort of bumps or anything.”

I put my arm around his shoulder, squeeze him and kiss the side of his head. Nobody’s watching us, and frankly, the only thing I care about is if he is ok.

The last 6 weeks have been surreal. Luckily for Elio there have been no repercussions, but my experience has been an eye opener. Everything from hostile anonymous notes left in my University interoffice mailbox to unexpected support from the registrar’s assistant, who confided in me about her gay daughter and their tempestuous relationship. I am persona non grata to a couple of the classics professors. When I walk in the common room, they leave, and look right through me when we chance to cross in the hall. It’s uncomfortable, but I can live with it. People have suffered much more than this for loving who they love.

I turn my head and look at Elio, he is lying back on his seat, eyes closed, lashes fanning out on his prominent freckled cheekbones. My thumb strokes the back of his hand, circling around and around, letting him know I am here. His breathing evens out and at least he is more relaxed than he was moments ago.

I’ve noticed a change in Elio in the last month or so. As he has become comfortable in our relationship, and more at ease with himself, his self-doubt and insecurity has all but vanished. The Elio I glimpsed as my student and my friend is really only the tip of the iceberg. I may have thought the person I fell in love with was a sensitive, smart collector of facts, an exceptional student and an analytical savant, but what I didn’t know is that he is an astounding observer of people with remarkable street smarts, an uncanny memory, and rapier edged sense of humor.

He has proven to be a sensuous connoisseur of sexual opportunity, willing to try things that I didn’t even know existed. He is giving and loving, but also holds his own, letting me know what he likes and what ‘does it for him.’ I can’t continue this train of thought…getting a hard on in these small Economy class seats would just add insult to injury. It’s bad enough that all 6’5” of me is stuffed into a miniscule aisle seat. I’m convinced the “mile high club’ is a myth. There is nothing hot about doing it in a cramped smelly bathroom. A hand job underneath the blanket though…that’s another story. Stop. Oliver. Just. Stop.

When the seat belt light goes out, I lift the handrail that separates us. Elio inches closer to me and tucks himself under my right arm, wriggling his face into my chest. I pull him even closer, running my hand up and down his side. If I have to spend 8 hours anywhere, having Elio curled up next to me makes it all doable. Luckily it’s a night flight and we are scheduled to arrive in Milan mid morning.

We both barely sleep, but the landing is smooth and although we are stiff and achy, we manage to get through immigration and customs with no trouble. I spot Elio’s parents in the arrival area right away. Samuel is grinning ear to ear and the beautiful brunette next to him is beaming. Elio breaks away from me and runs toward his parents embracing them forcefully. When I approach, they open their arms wide and include me in the group hug. While Elio and his mother hug and kiss, Samuel shakes my hand strongly and pats me on the back. “Welcome to the family Oliver, you’re one of us now.” The acceptance and warmth radiating from him is a bit overwhelming. This is someone who I have admired for years, whose intellectual accomplishments are a beacon to me, something I could never even hope to emulate. Because his son loves me, so in turn does he, another trait that makes him an admirable model. As I feel Samuel’s arms around my shoulder and hear his loving words, a hard lump forms in my throat. To be this lucky, to find this partner, friend, lover, and his accepting adoring family feels like a miracle.   In the middle of Malpensa Airport I have a major life revelation – that Elio has taught me how to love, and equally importantly how to accept love, even that which is not so obvious, that of my parents. How could you ever thank someone for that gift? The lump in my throat has morphed into leaking tears that I quickly brush away, but not before Elio sees them, concern creasing his forehead. I shake my head and give a watery smile. He rushes to my side, squeezes my hand and throws his other arm around his mother. He gives me a knowing glance, picking up on something unspoken between us.

Annella. I see where Elio’s beauty and light come from. She is pure intellect and charm; absolutely stunning. Her diminutive stature belies her large presence, she holds her hand on my side, assessing me, not judgmentally- it feels like admiration or approval, a glint in her eye as she kisses me on each cheek.

“Benvenuto Oliver. We are so happy to have you here. Since Passover is so late this year, we have decided to have the Seder at our country home in Crema. It’s about 2 hours from here, I hope you don’t mind. I know you two have been traveling for the last 8 hours- it’s a lot to ask.“

“Mama, it’s fine. We’ll sleep in the car.” Elio is bouncing on the soles of his feet, an aspect of him, previously unknown, is revealed in real time – that of the son, the treasured child, wanting to please and be indulged in turn.   We walk to the car, lugging our bags, and dodging the aggressive cabbies circling the airport.

“The weather’s been unseasonably warm, so we thought it would be a treat to be in Crema. You’ll love it there, I promise. Mafalda is going to make lamb for the Passover dinner.” I look at Elio confused “Who is Malfalda?”

“Ah, she cooks and takes care of the villa, she is also part of our family, Oliver,” Samuel answers as he opens the door to the family Fiat.  

“Do you want to sit in front?” he kindly asks. What I want is to fall asleep with Elio in the back seat, but I nod and slide in. Annella winks at me as she herds Elio into the car and hugs him close yet again. The lopsided grimace and eyeroll almost mask how much he is enjoying all this maternal cuddling. This side of Elio rounds out my perception of him in ways I couldn’t even imagine. I am sure the next 2 and a half weeks will be full of little revelations.

The area around the airport is industrial and not very picturesque. I have been to Milan before but not the outlying countryside. This is all new to me. Professor keeps up a running narration pointing out natural and man made landmarks, his comments are both insightful and biting at times.

“Maybe we will take a day trip to Lake Orta, and avoid overrun Lake Como. You’d like it Oliver, Nietzsche in his preface to Thus Spake Zarathustra  marked his life as “von Orta an” (from Orta onwards) I can’t say if it will be that life changing for you but we should check it out. Even Robert Browning thought to write ‘Alp meets heaven in snow’ when he spoke of the place, it’s an unheralded gem, although I don’t know what you two had in mind, perhaps you just want to sleep and eat good food, and drink local wine.”

“I’m not sure sir, I mean we’re both just happy to be here, but I certainly want to see what you want to show me.”

“Oliver! I won’t make you call me Dad, but I certainly won’t tolerate sir! Keep that up and I’ll drop you by the side of the road,” he teases me with a smile. “I meant it when I said you were part of the family now. As you will hopefully come to know, I don’t say things I don’t mean, please, at the very least call me Samuel.”

I nod, and let my gaze fall on his kind and intelligent face. He seems energized by the return of his son, and so focused on imparting all the knowledge presenting itself through the windshield. Why Elio is the way he is becomes clearer by the minute. I rest my head back and close my eyes. Although I want to see everything I cannot stay awake.

 

The crunch of the gravel wakes me up from my slumber. I look up to see an imposing stone mansion marked by towers on each opposing end. Large green shutters break up the rough façade and a covered archway marks the front door. It is both daunting and intriguing – I think I recall Elio saying it dates from the 17th century. Elio too, is asleep in the back seat, gently roused by his mother he takes a moment to realize where he is. All fatigue leaves him instantly as it appears being in such close proximity to his childhood home reinvigorates him.  

“Oliver! We’re here!! I can’t believe it, I get to show you where I grew up! Where I spent all of my summers. “ He bounds out of the car, his arms open wide spinning in circles. This unleashed joy a thrill to observe, my heartbeat quickens in compatible delight. As Elio whirls around, the front door opens and an older dour looking woman peers out.

“Ah Malfeda, we’re home, this is Oliver, Elio’s migliore amico,” says Samuel.” She   gives me the once over saying nothing. I extend my hand, she wipes her left hand on her apron and squeezes my right. How odd.

“Come boys, you’ll have a nice lunch. The best way to get over jet lag is to try and stay awake, I promise you can take a nap later. We have to eat up the last of the pasta and bread before Passover. Excuse the casualness Oliver, but there’s nothing formal about our lifestyle here,” Annella says over her shoulder as she strides through the front door.

“Elio, show Oliver upstairs, maybe he wants to freshen up a bit before lunch,” Samuel says handing us our suitcases. I follow Elio up the elegant rounded staircase, marveling at the frescos on the walls, the terrazzo floor, the amazing paintings hanging everywhere. I stop and look around trying to take it all in. Elio turns and watches me. “It’s good for me to see it through your eyes Oliver, I think I take this all for granted, I mean I grew up with it, I almost don’t see it anymore.”

“Elio, it’s amazing. I mean, it’s just so beautiful but not intimidating. It feels lived in and warm but at the same time elegant, I don’t think I’m making any sense….I’ll just shut up.” I look up, a bit embarrassed by my rambling and Elio has come back down the stairs and stops one stair above me. He places his hand on my neck, pulls me toward him and kisses me on the mouth. I go to deepen the kiss and he pulls away climbing to the top of the staircase. I follow him to an open door where he stands in the threshold chuckling.  
“Fucking Malfeda, she knows, man she knows everything.” I drop my suitcase and stand behind him looking into the room. “What are you talking about Elio?” I take the opportunity to put my hands on his slight hips and kiss his neck, pressing the length of my body against his back. He tilts his head back and I hear a soft “mmmmm” come from his lips. “See these two beds with the wooden headboards? “ I nod. “They are usually separated by a night table. She has pushed the two beds together to make one large bed. That says everything right there. She knows about you, she knows about us, Malfeda knows everything.”

“If there’s lube and condoms in the night table drawer then she’s a real keeper,” I whisper into Elio’s ear, he cracks up and punches me lightly on the arm. “You’re so bad,” he says.

“But you love me, so I can’t be that bad…”

“I do Oliver, I do.” And I get the kiss I so desperately wanted just a moment ago on the staircase.

“Boys!! Lunch is served. C’mon down,” we hear echoing through the hall. Elio runs to the top of the stairs and buys us a few more minutes. “We’re just washing up, be right down.” He brushes by me and grabs my hand, leading me to a blue tiled bathroom with a stack of fresh towels. We stand side by side, splashing cold water on our faces, and washing our hands. His hazel eyes catch mine in the mirror, and he smiles, sending a shiver right through my solar plexus. Either hyper aware of his affect on me or completely oblivious, Elio is playing it rather coy. I am at the mercy of my own desire. How will I get through lunch when what I want to devour is sitting across from me?

A bit too chilly to eat outside, we gather in the large dining room, which is part of the open kitchen. A long farmhouse pine table laden with pasta, bread, salad and a decanter of wine awaits us. Elio and I sit opposite each other, with Samuel at the head of the table. The meal is spectacular but appears effortless- Malfeda hovers a bit, making sure everyone has what they want and then retreats back to the kitchen. Annella asks me about our family traditions for Passover and I can’t seem to remember anything significant. “We used a haggadah that was given away free at the supermarket. It was more of an obligation than anything. I think a few relatives attended but more than that I can’t recall.”

“Ah good, then you won’t mind if we are anything but traditional” Annella says smiling. “Many years ago, when Elio was a toddler, Samuel and I wrote our own Passover Haggadah. We wanted to make it relevant, we have readings that include everyone from Martin Buber to Martin Luther King, I just wanted to warn you.”

“I can’t wait to read it, maybe the holiday will have new meaning for me, instead of brisket and bad wine. “

“Ah but Beverly’s brisket, that’s the stuff religions are created around.” Elio pipes in. “It’s even better the second day, warmed up. I got a care package I will never forget last Hanukkah, really good.” Malfeda sticks her head into the dining room and flashes Elio a disapproving look, silently defending her version of pot roast I ‘m sure. We sit around the table for an hour, Samuel asking about the progress on my book, Elio regaling his mother with tales from his visual culture class, describing in lurid detail the panoramas morgues used to help identify the John and Jane Does of 19th century Paris.

Before our impending naps, Elio suggests a walk around the grounds and I eagerly accept. I start to clear the dishes and bring them into the kitchen area when I feel a strong hand on my arm. “No Ulliva, you are a guest, please, no,” Malfeda appears slightly offended by my offer to help clear. I place the dishes down on the counter and throw my hands up in deference to her request.

Spring has made itself known around the villa. The showy azaleas are in full bloom and the wisteria that covers the outside of the villa paints the wall in hues of royal purple. The apricot and peach trees that dot the property have flowered as well, and I figure this may be the closest I ‘ve ever come to the garden of Eden… paradise with my Elio somewhere in northern Italy.

He shows me the pool, now empty, but beautiful nonetheless, holding within it the promise of lazy swims and cool respite from the relentless heat of the summer. He walks me to the shed, where Anchise the caretaker is cleaning off two bicycles. We are introduced and shake hands. “Tomorrow a bike ride! For sure, says Elio.” I am relieved he does not want to go now, I am so tired my head is swimming. “ Naptime?” I ask hoping Elio will join me. He nods and we walk back to the villa hand in hand.

 

They must have let me sleep the evening away. I awaken to moonlight streaming through the French doors, Elio asleep by my side, jeans off, but still in his t shirt. I am wide awake, doing exactly what you are not supposed to do when avoiding jet lag. I stand, stretch and go take a piss. My sweater is right where I left it after our afternoon walk and I throw it on and rummage through Elio’s bag looking for a smoke. I quietly open the terrace doors and the smell of night blooming jasmine assaults my senses. Perching on the rail, I am slowly becoming aware of the magic this place generates, the food, the smells, the light, and the most magical of all- Elio born of two incredible parents, conceived here, raised here, and so happy here. And, as if my potent thoughts cause him to materialize, he appears on the porch in his sweatshirt and underpants awake and smiling, stealing away the cigarette while sitting across from me on the railing.

“Hi.”

“It smells incredible out here. “ I say grabbing back the cigarette.

“Yeah. Sometimes it’s too much. You have to cut it with tobacco or something.“ I reach over to tickle him, and a brief but handsy wrestling match ensues. Eventually he calls my bluff and presses his head into my neck peppering me with little kisses.

“C’mon, put that out, we’re up, we might as well make good use of our time.”

“Oh yeah, what did you have in mind?” I only have to glance at his boxer shorts to guess what he has on his mind. As we close the glass doors behind us, I ask if perhaps, I can have a taste of what’s tenting his shorts. He acquiesces but before he can pull his pants down I place my mouth over the fabric, licking and nuzzling the head of his cock. When I thoroughly soak the fabric, I stroke him with my finger, teasing the length and torturing him just a bit.

“God Oliver, you’re so mean.” I shut him up with a kiss, before I get back to work between his legs. At least when he comes, he puts his hand in his mouth to stifle his usual loud OH GOD, not a problem in our NY apartment but certainly an unwanted interruption in the stillness of the Lombardy night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and an epilogue. This was a pleasure to write, hopefully as much a pleasure to read. Your feedback and comments mean everything to me. Even just a 'hi' to let me know you enjoyed spending time with my words. I've met some absolutely lovely people in this fandom and feel really lucky. Come say hi on tumblr. I'm Delongpaw.


	30. All of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning Magic  
> A Bike Ride  
> A Troth
> 
> This chapter is entirely in Elio's point of view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed a bit from Aciman/Ivory in this chapter (again) at the berm naturally.  
> So this is it guys.  
> The epilogue is almost all written and I will post it right away when completed.  
> Will save my ramblings and thanks for the end notes after the very last chapter.

Elio xxxxxxxxxxxxx

  
A lazy morning in the arms of the person I love, surrounded by the smells, sights and sounds of my childhood – I must be dreaming.  
The sun is streaming through the glass doors. Oliver is awake, on his side with his head resting on his arm watching me. He licks his lips and swallows. I hold his gaze, and let my eyes sweep down his body, furry chest draped in the crisp pale yellow cotton of Malfeda’s lavender scented sheets. He reminds me of one the illustrations in my father’s books of Hellenistic statuary. - perfection in human form.

  
I still wonder what he sees in me. At the best of times, I alternate between awkward and know-it-all without missing a beat. I don’t have a good body, I mean it’s healthy and all, but lets face it, I am scrawny. Intellectually I attempt to hold my own with Oliver so there’s that… at least.  
God, where is all this insecurity coming from? I guess when I saw my folks for the first time in 8 months I reverted back to my teen years. It’s so easy to fall back into that role, and back to the mindset that used to accompany it.

  
I spent most of my adolescence feeling somewhat marginalized, but in way that describes 90% of all human teenagers. It defies logic really, the idea that everyone else has a handle on how to do this growing up thing, and you are the only one stumbling through. All that time spent transcribing music and losing myself in literature was not wasted, I know that now, but at the time I felt so isolated.

Wow. Way to be in your head whilst lying in bed with possibly the most beautiful man I have ever seen. I lean over and place a soft kiss on his mouth. He smiles and strokes my head. “Boy, were you lost in thought, what’s going on in that big brain of yours?” He asks, continuing to run his fingers through my curls.  
“Just that I tend to sort of go back to 16 year old awkward Elio when I’m around my folks, and I was having a moment that’s all.”

  
“16 is pretty good Elio, when I’m around Reed and Beverly I go directly to a pissed off 13 year old.”

  
“You don’t any more Oliver, even in the short time I have known you, things have changed. You are more you now, not some polite stranger who just tolerates them. It’s pretty awesome to watch.”

  
“I believe you had a huge part in my awakening Elio. I was just thinking about that yesterday at the airport. How do I begin to thank you for helping me become more of myself - if that makes any sense?”

  
“I can’t take credit for that Oliver, but I can confirm it’s true.”

  
Oliver smiles and pulls me toward him. He sort of rolls me on my side facing away from him, and slips his leg in between mine. He plants warm kisses on the back of my neck and I stretch along the length of him. All this contact is arousing. I can feel him harden against my ass. “Mmmm, this is nice, I love the feel of your body Elio, I want to spoon you and do this….  
He presses his body against mine - his solidity and mass making me feel engulfed and small. He throws his leg over my hip and rubs his dick up deep in my crack. I ask him to “hold that thought,” I reach and grab the lube out of the night table and toss it to him. I hear the squishy sound of it being squeezed into his hand and I feel his roving fingers between my butt cheeks. Next thing I know he is rubbing himself up and down my ass, and jerking me with his lubed up hand at the same time. I just go with it and add to the friction by pushing against his dragging cock.

  
“Ah yeah Elio, keep doing that baby, yessss.” I squeezed my cheeks together to make it even tighter for him. His hand speeds up at the same rate that his hips are moving against me. He growls and nips my neck as he increases the pace and intensity of his thrusting. His hand, helped by mine makes me climax rather quickly. I feel him slow down, letting out a low moan, as the warm cum seeps into the cleft of my ass.

  
Oh, that was an unexpected piece of morning magic. I lean back and kiss his sweaty neck, licking the drops of perspiration from his hairline. I inhale slowly, savoring Oliver’s musky scent.  
He rolls me back over toward him, we’re both somewhat sticky and gross but smiling; his dreamy and languid, mine goofy and oversized. He strokes my face with the tips of his fingers, tracing my nose and mouth, combing my unruly curls away from my forehead.

  
“You are a marvel Elio. How did I get so lucky? God I love you.”

  
His words feel like honey, seeping into my skin, sweetening every breath I take. I want to lie here and bask in it eternally.

  
Eventually a shower and breakfast prove too much of a temptation. I plan on taking Oliver for a bike ride to town, and show him my favorite places near the villa. As we come downstairs, my parents are nowhere to be found. There is a bowl of soft boiled eggs, fruit and the last of the bread on the table. For the next 2 days at least, we will eat only matzah. We’ve never gone the full eight days with no bread, the dry flat cracker tends to get old rather quickly. I make Oliver a café au lait and one for myself.

  
“What’s your plan for today Elio?”

  
“We’ll go get the bikes, I want you to see the town, it’s wonderful, and then I want to take you to my equivalent of the Hungarian café.”  
“What? What do you mean?” Oliver is smiling but obviously confused.

  
“My spot. Where I go to read, and be alone. You are the only person I want to share it with.”

  
We continue our leisurely breakfast and I hear my parent’s car pull up in the drive. My mother and Malfeda have returned from shopping. I guess they went to get groceries and will start preparing the Passover meal soon. We clear our dishes and stack them in the sink.  
I grab Oliver’s hand and we make our way outside.

  
“Dinner will start at 6 Elio, and you guys have to shower and dress, so please don’t hold us up. Your Aunt and Uncle are coming as well as two of your father’s colleagues.“  
My mother kisses us both and tells us to have fun.

  
I haven’t been on a bike since last summer and I am a bit wobbly. Oliver is downright comical, his large frame finding balance, massive feet on small pedals, his blue button down shirt flapping in the breeze. I don’t laugh though, I ride next to him, tossing sidelong glances at him to make sure he is ok.

  
“What? It’s been a while ok?” he says with a shrug.  
A car approaches on the narrow road and Oliver pulls off to the side and stops, I continue on ahead, turning around to smirk at him.  
“Hey Elio! Wait up.”

  
Ah. I can tell I’ve tweaked his competitive streak and he pushes himself to not only catch up with me but to power past me. He tosses his head back and laughs deeply, the sound breaking through the soft buzz of the countryside. We race each other to the small village close to my parent’s house. So this is what Oliver was like at 11 or 12, carefree, spirited, driven to win…I love seeing him come out to play. We leave our bikes leaning against the arcade that surrounds the middle of town. Oliver walks into the tobacconist’s shop like he has lived here all of his life.

  
I observe his innate swagger, the confidence that comes with being a handsome man in his prime. He’s mine. That beautiful man belongs to me, and a deep sense of joy radiates out from my heart, filling me up. So this is what it feels like to be in love. The moment of recognition engulfs me and I feel it in every molecule of my body. I love the carefree 12 year old who raced me just a few minutes ago, I love the brilliant professor who cares profoundly about his students and his chosen subject matter. I love the wounded soul who seeks love and acceptance. Of course I love the sensual man who makes me feel things I never even dreamed were possible. The totality is what has me leaning against this column unable to move – spellbound by the realization that soul mates do exist, and I have found mine.

  
He emerges with a pack of Gauloise, and sees me leaning on the building, my eyes a bit unfocused. Oliver moves into my space, and says under his breath “I wish I could kiss you right now.” I smile, knowing that he wants to is almost as good as having him kiss me right here in the central piazza.  
We walk around the square, past the church, and the café, where then men drink and play cards all day. I stop in at the

small mercato and buy two drinks which I put in my backpack. When I return, I see Oliver standing by our bikes, having a smoke.  
“It’s so beautiful here Elio. This place is pure magic.”  
I wait for him to finish his smoke, and practically drag him to the bikes.

  
He has to see the berm. The place that holds all of my changes, where I am the most me.

  
“Follow me. I’ll show you a spot visitors have never seen.”  
We travel down the road out of town making a turn we bypassed before. A grassy area leads to a small pond. A rustic stone wall meanders across the meadow. The willow trees are just starting to leaf, a cloud of soft green sits like a low lying haze on top of mossy trunks. The trickle of the spring and the crackle of our tires on the gravel is all we can hear.  
We lay our bikes down and hold hands as we walk toward the water.

  
“This is my spot. All mine. I come here to read. I can’t begin to tell you the number of books I’ve read here.”  
Oliver dips his hands in the water, and splashes it on his face. He looks at me and smiles.

  
“Oliver, I have to tell you something. I don’t know how to say this; I’ve never said it before, I don’t know how to speak about the things that matter the most to me.”  
“But you’re doing it now in a way.”  
“Yes in a way,” I hesitate, my heart pounding out of my chest, I take a deep breath; “I love you, I am profoundly and deeply in love with you Oliver.” He rushes toward me and pulls me into his arms. “Elio, Elio, Elio, I love you too, completely and totally,” he says in a gruff whisper. “I am so in love with you I can barely think of anything else, my Elio.”  
We stand there, in the midday sunshine, holding each other, this declaration made at the berm is to me a troth, a solemn vow that I am his; my body, my soul, there is no other nor will there ever be.

And so, we will go back to my family home and celebrate the festival of freedom and rebirth. I return to the villa a changed man, no longer a boy lusting after his professor, but a man, truly and completely in love, adored and adoring, growing, evolving, and finally, so very happy.


	31. Epilogue

Epilogue 1997

Oliver:

It’s now been ten years since our Passover trip to Italy. Time is so funny. The last two years of Elio’s undergraduate studies seemed to go on forever. I had become disillusioned with Columbia, the disciplinary trial really was a turning point for me and I never felt 100% comfortable there after that. I knew that no matter how much I published, or how popular a teacher I was, there would be no tenure offered. Some of the staff remained cold to me until I left. The waters had been muddied and my time there had to come to an end. Also, New York City was changing, it became prohibitively expensive, Elio and I couldn’t enjoy what the city had to offer because after food and rent we were pretty strapped.

Elio did indeed pursue the field of architectural history and although Columbia has one of the finest graduate departments in that field, he knew I needed to leave there.

When I applied and was offered a tenured track position at the University of California Berkeley Classics Department I jumped at the chance, but not before we made sure it would work for Elio as well. Elio originally thought he would be focusing on the history and relevance of world’s fairs and exhibition architecture, but being out in Berkeley, he discovered the amazing architecture of Bernard Maybeck. He immersed himself in studying the buildings and work of Maybeck and within a few years became a well-respected authority on the man, his work and his philosophy. His claim to fame, which basically cemented his doctoral thesis, was discovering a previously unknown work by the master, lost to written history but sitting neglected in a neighborhood in nearby Oakland. He has spent the last two years raising funds and designing a restoration plan for the building.

We have made an amazing life out here. We bought a small home on the hill above campus, built in 1911, it satisfies Elio’s love of old houses, but the renovation we did last year brought the kitchen and the master suite into the present day. I especially like the deck with the hot tub off of our bedroom where Elio and I can lounge in total privacy, cocooned in the Berkeley Hills with a view of San Francisco Bay.

My parents have retired to Florida, I try to go a few times a year. We have forged a decent relationship. Certain things still bother me, but I let it go much easier now, not dwelling on past hurts. I have made some good friends here too, joined a men’s group where we talk about our emotional life, our struggles, our victories. I am glad Berkeley is such a liberal and open place, and its’ proximity to San Francisco makes it ideal.

Annella and Samuel are here in Berkeley for the year. Samuel is a guest professor in my department and it has been a privilege to speak to him daily, sit in on his lectures and have coffee together at least twice a week. Elio and I are working on getting them here permanently but it is an uphill battle. Annella is working with one of the professors in the Art History department doing translations of original manuscripts needed for a book on Titian. I know they both love being so close to Elio. They have rented a little Spanish style bungalow right near campus. We often meet for Vietnamese Food at a place up the road.

My relationship with them has healed me so much. The unconditional love they have for their son has been extended to me, and next to my relationship with Elio, it is the greatest gift I have ever been given.

And Elio! What can I say about my beautiful Elio? Our relationship has intensified and become something I never even knew I could have. It’s loving, intellectual, supportive, filled with obscure facts, and sometimes just pure silliness.  That overwhelming attraction we both fought so hard to ignore in the classroom has bloomed into a deeply sensual ongoing connection. There are times when I count the hours until I can be home again with him in my arms.

And time! That fickle bitch is speeding by, precious moments grabbed and held up to the light for closer examination, flashes I wish I could preserve forever gone in an instant.

I feel inadequate putting into words how much Elio means to me.

He is my life.

 

 

Elio:

Eight Years in Berkeley. I love it here. I love how close we are to best that California has to offer; an hour up to Point Reyes, 2O minutes to downtown San Francisco-a place where Oliver and I can hold hands and not even think twice about it. Even the San Francisco Symphony is amazing.

I love my work. I mean I get paid to research weird and arcane facts, how awesome is that? Berkeley turned out to be the best possible place for me to get my masters and doctorate. I found my life’s calling.

David and I are still in touch. He is a big deal in the music video world now, directing videos for huge artists, writing treatments, working all over the world. The last time we spoke, someone had approached him to direct a film. He liked the story a lot and he’s hoping it will happen. Half of what he takes meetings on never come to fruition but he loves the game. He’s even better looking and more charismatic ten years down the road, it’s sort of unfair.

David’s had his share of heartbreak though. He lost Pieter to AIDS in 1990.   They were still in New York. I flew back for the memorial service. He really needed a friend, I stayed for a month, to help him regroup, to this day, he thanks me for it.

I still play the piano, for myself mostly and for Oliver who pretends that everything I play is perfect and magical.

On some level Oliver is still that preppie patrician god that I worshipped my sophomore year at Columbia. Often, more than I care to admit, I sneak into one of his large lectures and sit in the back. And just for a moment, I am a love struck student, fantasizing about my professor, thinking about what I would do to him given the opportunity. Ah but the reality is just that much sweeter, when his class is over and I skip down the stairs patiently waiting for the last student to leave, and kiss him firmly on the mouth while discreetly palming him. I can still embarrass him but secretly I know he loves it.

Who he has become and is still becoming amazes me. The man I loved back in New York was wonderful, the person he is now transcends all expectations. The miracle is, that he and I have grown together, not apart, as couples who meet so young often do.

It’s the luck of the universe, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

 

 

                                                                                                                        Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this where I get to sob and tell you all how much I will miss these two. I have been living with them in my head for 8 months. I cried a bit while finishing this, I must admit. 
> 
> I need to thank a few people. Please indulge me.   
> To Eva_Marlowe who doesn’t believe me when I say she is the goddess of this fandom. The bar was set so high !   
> To LaCompositora who’s words me make tear up just thinking about them. 
> 
> Auselysium, Clementizing, CMBYN(Pmzilla),MermaidsandMermen(SophiaSoames) ars_amatoria, Barthelme, and willowbrooke, I am in awe of all of you. 
> 
> To the amazing readers whose comments kept me inspired and appreciated. Please know that even if I didn’t mention you, every comment means the world to me.   
> I especially want to thank Morgan98, Inthemid80s, laurenluxe, isitandwonder, trashfortimmy, maybeillride, Cheekycheekbones, thecosmicfragments, Babelogue, Secondnightofsummer, ditdut, kittenpurple, greeneyed, Chalamentgal, Trinity, SwanRonson,ELIOELIOOLIVEROLIVER, and aln63ny. And heartfelt thanks to Timelosser and Lena_221b whose comments and support kept me on course. 
> 
> This story is dedicated to Oohlalee who very well might be my soul mate. Certainly the brightest light in my life.   
> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> With love to each of you  
> Vivian Delongpaw

**Author's Note:**

> These characters are the property of André Aciman. I've just put in them in a different world and given them some other circumstances...


End file.
